


Go Slowly

by DontKillAnybody



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: 'Lovers' is a bit strong but by all means imagine my boys getting frisky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, I erased the last 5 minutes of this movie for my own personal gain, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontKillAnybody/pseuds/DontKillAnybody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the movie is never really the end. Sometimes it is only a wonderful beginning.<br/>And sometimes this one bastard comes into your life and just won't leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean knocks Warren on his ass. Licking is involved. There's a milkshake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that Warren is a sucker for peanut butter. Which is probably the only reason I wrote this. It just got.....messy.

If Jean were a lion, she would be growling, Kurt thinks. Instead she seems content to stand in the doorway. Her arms are crossed tight and her eyes cast a shadow of fire. Their unlucky target this afternoon was Warren, under house-arrest and the current candidate for babysitting duty.

He crosses his arms similar to her. “Make sure to get a good eyeful.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.” Her expression doesn’t change in the slightest but she does readjust the shoulder that’s leaning against the door.

Kurt continues his awkward vigil on her right and shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s slightly farther into the room than she is, heart beating twice as fast. His eyes are fixed on Angel’s tattered wings. The metal coating them had mostly broken off in the plane crash, splintered by the force of impact. They had saved his life but the end result wasn’t a return to their previous magnificence; traces of metal still glinted in the feathers and bones and the charred remains of the left wing were still underneath. The sight did things to Kurt’s stomach, made it feel empty and full at the same time with no relief no matter how much or how little he ate. When first encountering Warren in the Institute, escorted by a blue-for-the-occasion Hank, he’d tried to apologize but the flippant “Shut up” in reply had stymied any other attempts. He reckoned there had to be a noticeable lump in his throat by now from all the swallowed apologies.

Warren leans back in his chair far enough that the front legs lift off the floor, stretching his arms and letting his wings unfurl towards the ceiling. “Wouldn’t want you to have to invent somebody attractive when you’re necking that eyebeam bastard.” He licks his lips and looks her in the eye finally. “Bitch.”

Kurt starts forward, his mouth partway open to tell him off— _[Wait]_ —when Warren’s chair tips violently, slamming him wings-first into the floor. A giggle escapes Kurt before he can bring a hand up to cover his mouth and Jean smiles, pleased.

Warren climbs to his feet and takes a step forward; Kurt backing up in kind to grab Jean and baring his teeth as he remembers the cage fight (as if he could forget it). Warren doesn’t move forward anymore but his face twists into something ugly. It’s an unnerving change from his usually beatific features. “Don’t tell me what to do!” he spits out.

Kurt points to himself confusedly. “Uh, are you talking to me?”

“No.” His mouth twitches. “To your friend and her shitty mind tricks.”

Jean rolls her eyes as Hank comes in behind her, a folder stuffed to the brim under his arm. He nudges past the two of them in the doorway somewhat awkwardly.

“Thank you for watching him, Jean,” Hank looks from Kurt to Warren uncertainly, gauging the tension in the room. Kurt looks away from him, face warm but nonetheless on guard. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I’m not an ‘it’, you fuck,” Warren picks his chair back up and sits back down. His wings are spread out again as far as they can in the small room, trying to take up as much space as possible.

“Ah, of course not, that’s not what I meant……You can go now Jean. Kurt.” Hank smiles at them before taking the seat across from Angel.

“Come on, Kurt.” Jean taps his shoulder and he relaxes. “Jubilee said she was making Reese’s milkshakes.”

Kurt barely catches the quick back-and-forth snap of Warren’s head at the mention of candy but Jean is already out the door. He turns back to wave and teleports down the hall. He reappears next to Jean, who shrieks but manages to keep her mouth closed. The walk to the kitchen is an exchange of telepathic chiding and verbal regrets.

 

When Kurt returns three hours later, the curves of his teeth are still coated with half-frozen peanut butter and the glass in his hand is starting to feel cold. He goes to open the door to Warren’s room (it feels more like a cell but it’s better than any alternative) and the handle only jerks slightly in his hand. Locked. Would it be worth it to try teleporting to the other side?

He sucks a breath between his teeth and tries imagining the room as clearly as possible. The two chairs, the large windows on the outside walls, the dark red rug….

The room materializes in a cloud of dark smoke and a shout of “JESUS FUCK!”

Startled, Kurt stumbles back and throws his arms in front of his face. The milkshake in his hand sloshes dangerously, spilling over his hand and dripping onto the floor. “Sorry! Sorry.”

He teleports back to the hallway, holding the milkshake in a death grip.

“Hey blue guy!” Warren’s voice is muffled and the door jolts as it’s struck from the other side. “Stay out!”

“I BROUGHT YOU A GIFT!” Kurt yells back. A few students at the end of the hall eye him strangely and shuffle out of sight.

“Why?”

“You had a look like you wanted one!”

“One what?”

“One milkshake!”

The few moments of silence are followed by a quiet shout of “You can come in.”

Kurt shuffles in place, waiting for the door unlock and open. He warily eyes the spilt ice cream on his hand and holds the other underneath the glass, just in case. Warren’s voice unexpectedly comes from the other side. “You have to bamf in. I can’t unlock it.”

“Oh,” He teleports back to the other side. “I didn’t know you could not leave.”

Warren is perched on the back of his chair, feet on the seat. The cascades of feathers from his back are relaxed but he can see that they only reach the floor on the far side. The burned side comes up more than a foot short. Kurt’s teeth clench at the sight, feeling the apologies crawling their way back up his throat.  

He sticks an arm out instead, the shake coming dangerously close to overflowing. He says, “It’s Reese’s.” Smiles with too many nervous teeth. “I got it for you.”

When Warren steps down, it’s with over-demonstrated nonchalance, watching Kurt the whole time as if he’s going to snatch it away or attack him. His wings sway with him; the wounded one going at its own slow, fractured pace. “I can have this,” he says, more as a question.

Kurt nods furiously. “But I- I spilled some,” He gestures to the drops of chocolate on the carpet behind him and on his hand. “It’s still good though! My friends really know what they’re doing.”

Warren walks towards him and takes the glass, holding it carefully. He turns the glass and licks up the side to get all of the fallen shake before bringing the brim to his mouth and taking a drink. Kurt looks around for a moment, looking for a towel or anything to wipe his hand off on when Warren motions him closer. “Give me your hand,” he says, turning back to set the milkshake down on the seat.

Kurt wonders if he has a napkin stuffed into one of the pockets of his leather jacket when Angel grabs him by the wrist and drags him closer, bringing his hand to his mouth before Kurt can protest. He drags his tongue across the back, catching the whole of the spill in one uneven drag. He closes his mouth over the space between Kurt’s thumb and first finger and sucks, teeth and tongue working at the skin. Kurt can feel his tail wrapping tightly around his leg but most of him is confused, frozen and focused on the feeling in his hand. When Angel finally lets go, it’s to glance up at him one last time before bending down to pick up the milkshake again.

“Now you’re clean.” Warren makes a face as if to say ‘ _You’re welcome_ ’ and takes a swill from the glass.

“Uhh,” Kurt tries to take a step back and almost stumbles until he realizes his tail is unwinding itself, “Thank you?”

“Mm.” Another drink and he turns away. His wings are spread wide for Kurt to take in, one side white and one side destroyed (by him, with no forgiveness). Something, guilt, stabs him clean through and it punctures whatever was keeping those apologies off his lips because before he knows it he’s calling out—

“I’m sorry I ruined you!”

Warren freezes. His wings flex slightly, as if they just remembered who was standing behind them— the healthy one moving smoothly compared to the hiccupping motion of the other. Kurt waits, heart racing as his pulse drums in his ears. He can feel his tail scrape against the floor as it wavers back and forth behind him.

“They grow back.” There’s an edge in Warren’s voice, something nicked and rusted and reminds Kurt of broken bottles in a back alley. “They always grow back.” And with that the tension seems to bleed out of his shoulders, an agreement made secretly to himself as Angel’s wings settle and every joint seem to unwind itself. He takes another sip and the moment truly disappears. “Don’t worry about it, Blue.”

“It’s Kurt, actually,” he corrects, not entirely sure what just happened.

“Don’t worry about it, Kurt.” He says his name with same indifference as he rose from the chair earlier: Forced.

_[Kurt where did you go? Scott wants to watch Back to the Future and we need a tiebreaker for Ferris Bueller.]_

“I’ll be right there!” Kurt grins at the empty air. “ _Auf_ —“ he cuts himself off, “ _Guten nacht_ , _Engel_. Sleep well.”

Warren sticks a hand in the air as he continues to walk away.

Just as Kurt disappears, he sees the head of curls (cut laughably short in the hospital but growing longer each day) move slightly as Warren watches him leave, eyes benign and face unreadable.

He brushes it off and absconds to the living room.


	2. A Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's better than a second chance! Except maybe alcohol and, oh, everything?

The first days weren’t spent talking legal jargon. A week or two was devoted to being locked up in a hospital of all things, guarded by people in black with darker guns, safeties off for protection. Broken bones healed for the most part, by one of the Professor’s (Xavier’s, he can’t decide which is more disrespectful) freaks. The most disorienting thing had been waking up—surprisingly undead and feeling lighter than ever. Half of that was the morphine. The other half was when Warren had tried heaving himself upright still completely blitzed out of his fucking mind and to be greeted by his wings flopping graciously into his face, more feather than metal and broken all over. That was the point he’d tried attacking the first guard. Then a flood of nurses and more guards to hold him down; he succeeded in slashing one of them (A nurse? A gunman? A human.) across the face before there was a stabbing sensation in his side and his sight fell back to black.

Waking up the second time brought four guards and the man he now knew as Charles Xavier.

“You know, you’re a very lucky young man.” The professor rolled his chair forwards until he was even with the foot of the bed. He folded his hands in his lap instead of doing something Old Man-esque, like squeezing his ankle or something else that meant they were touching. “You probably wouldn’t be alive right now if not for the efforts of my students. Or, for that matter, would you be comfortably lounging,” he glanced at the handcuffs tethering Warren to the bed but made no remark, “In this hospital without Ororo vouching on your behalf. Quite selflessly, if I do say so myself.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Xavier coughed. “Apocalypse is dead, Warren. Of your other 3 horsemen one has disappeared, and the other two have taken up residence at my school as student and teacher respectively. The only one still unaccounted for is you.

“You still may need a few days to recover— Danielle made quick work of the major breaks but she’s still getting the hang of things so you’re at risk for a number of microfractures— and there are multiple government agencies waiting to get their hands on you. I can assure you that _we_ don’t want that to happen, but the choice is ultimately up to you. If you wish, there is a place at my Institute for you as well.”

It felt like Xavier expected a response to this, at the very least but Warren just felt exposed, as if his skin had been rubbed raw and then dropped off on a busy freeway. No wings, no clothes, no _hair_ for crying out loud, although he suspected the latter was because Xavier was loathe to be alone in his baldness. No blue _deus ex machina_ to (very literally) come through the door and give him a purpose. No liquor either for that matter, which might be the biggest tragedy of the last ten minutes.

Xavier’s chair rolled back towards the door. “I’ll leave you to consider my offer for now.” He stopped just short of the exit to look back at Warren. “You know, Ororo is quite enjoying herself at school. She’s already built quite the rapport with Peter, the extraordinarily fast mutant at the battle?” He scratches the back of his neck. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have seen him.” He paused again, and put a hand to his temple. The voice Warren heard was no longer out in the open, but inside his head.

_[I see what you’ve been through, Warren. There is no shame in wanting better for yourself. If you come to my school, you can achieve this. You can be free. And, for what may be the first time in your life, I can promise you will be safe.]_

The minute amount of affinity Warren had allowed himself to feel with the professor dried up and was replaced with exasperation. He rolled his eyes and turned away.

He must have felt the change in his demeanor because nothing else was said. “That’s all for today.” Xavier motioned for one of the guards to unlock the door. “Good-bye, Warren.”

He didn’t see the professor for three days after that. The most boring days of his life by far: hours spent jerking at the bindings on his wings and having guns pointed at him, hours of readjusting the ways his hands lay so the cuffs didn’t cut in too badly, hours of daydreams.

In the best ones, he would rip his wings and arms free through sheer force of will, leaping atop his bed to take out the guards two at a time with his talons before they could so much as raise their rifles. Flying out the window to anywhere but the hospital. Stealing clothes off of some creep who deserved what he got. Grabbing one of those burgers slathered with peanut butter before ditching this town, this state completely. Things got blurry after that, his imaginary life branching off in a hundred different ways. He could find another fighting ring, hijack a schooner and become a pirate, track down Psylocke and the two of them could pick up where En Sabah Nur left off. But nothing about those endings brought a real future, so he let it be.

In the worst ones, he cuts off his wings.

Xavier finally came back, towing a skinny, suited-up clown who was introduced as Hank.

“How are you feeling today, Warren?”

This time he was ready to talk. “Fine.”

“Good. You’ve be cooped up here for about a week now? Longer, most likely.” He opened his mouth to say more but closed it when the guard nearest the door glanced over at him. Xavier cleared his throat and repositioned himself in his seat. “Could- could we have a moment? I assure you, my colleague and I are perfectly safe.”

The guard shook her head. “No can do. We’ve been ordered not to leave the room.”

“Yes, that’s all well and good but,” He raised his hand to his forehead like before, “I believe your orders have changed.”

The guard’s face relaxed into something much more amicable as she waved for the others to follow her. “As he said.” They filed out one by one, the last one turning to lock the three of them inside. Warren rolled his eyes at the futile gesture. Who would bust down a wooden door when there’s a perfectly good glass window to shatter right across the room?

Xavier got straight to the point. “Warren, have you considered my offer any more?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take the deal.”

“This is no laughing matter, Warren.”

“I’m not even smiling.”

Xavier shared a look with Hank. “Well first we’ll have to see about your frame of mind.” He caught the outraged look Warren threw his way with the same controlled air as he’d manipulated the guard. “I won’t have you endangering any of my current students, Apocalypse—”

“En Sabah Nur.”

“—or not.” He sighed. “See this is exactly what I was talking about. You joined him of your own free will. You never turned on him like Erik and Ororo during the battle. What reason have we to trust you?”

“None, but where else am I going to go?”

“Jail. Or, if we do take you in, possibly straight to the next genocidal maniac who promises you untold power. Don’t—” Xavier cut him off, “Try to prove your conviction right now. After what you just said, I can assure you I won’t believe it. But I did make a promise and I intend to keep it. Hank can explain the rest.” He rolled his chair away to allow Hank in front him.

“Warren, it’s good to finally meet you.” Hank smiled, looking up at Warren and back down at his sheaf of papers a few times. He reminded Warren of the guys who would wring their hands at the end of the bar for ten minutes before offering to buy him a drink. “Most of the paperwork has already been filled out by either Charles or myself but we’ll need your signature on…” he scanned the pile and pulled out four or five pages, “These, saying that you’re released into our custody for rehabilitation, both medical and moral. Then there’s the matter of your official account explaining your innocence in the destruction of Cairo and, well, the world but that’s already been outlined by Ororo, or I guess you know her as Storm don’t you?” He took another look up from his work, concerned. “Did you even exchange names?”

Warren ignored his questions. “I don’t need to be in anyone’s custody. I’m legal.”

“Well, the conditions of you coming with us are similar to Ororo’s since we were able to work out similar deals. You can think of it like a sort of parole but, ah, no drug tests. You’ll be required to stay at the school for over a year, most likely attending as a student since there’s,” Hank flipped to the very end of the packet, “No record of you graduating from anywhere.”

Warren unintentionally tried crossing his arms only to be stopped short by the cuffs. Blood rushed to his face, but it didn’t seem as if either of the men had noticed. It all felt a little too fast, a little too neat and convenient. He hadn’t killed anyone, so was that it? No murder charges, convince the judge he’d been forced one way or the other and just walk out the door. He picked at a paint fleck on the bars of the hospital bed. “Sure. Fine. Whatever works. When can I get out of here?”

“As soon as you finish signing.” Xavier spoke up, a wry smile on his face.

Hank handed him a pen and Warren set to writing.

 

There were a few things they neglected to tell him, of course. Xavier explains the true conditions of his release as Hank drives them the three hours to the Institute:

  1. He was not allowed to leave the premises without Xavier or one of his staff accompanying him.
  2. He was expected to attend classes and perform well to show he was willing to become a “productive member of society”.
  3. They needed a statement from him detailing his time serving Apocalypse in order to fully decide if this punishment was all that was necessary.



Every word that crawls out of his mouth sets Warren more and more on edge, the cramped space in the car doing little to alleviate his nerves. It’s like the fighting ring all over again: Survival only possible by participating, escape only possible through survival. He watches miles of trees whip past the window and leans his forehead against the glass, imagining busting out and making for the clouds. No one could follow him, no one would find him. And who cares if one fugitive gets away? The blades that had become his lifeline were lying in a pit in Cairo. He was back where he started this whole shitshow.

When they pull up to the driveway, Hank exits first to help Xavier with his wheelchair. Warren tries to get out but the door handle doesn’t click. He tries it again and again, wrenching the lever back more viciously each time because he needs to get out of this car and out of the deathtrap and stretch and fly off somewhere with clean air and no pricks to talk as if they were doing him a favor by taking ownership of his ungrateful ass and—

Hank opens the door from the outside and peers inside. “Sorry about that.” He points to the edge of the door. “Child locks.”

His heart is beating hard against his ribs, twisting his face into a scowl. What a fucking crock of shit. He shoulders Hank aside and makes a beeline for the entrance. A hand catches him under the arm before he can get very far. The grip is strong and he can feel claws digging into the old t-shirt he’d been brought to wear instead of hospital scrubs. When he turns back to tell them to fuck off, he’s shocked by the blue gorilla keeping him back.

“I’ll be escorting you in,” the gorilla says with Hank’s tweed-nosed voice.

“Dude.” is what Warren comes up with.

And that’s how he ends up entering the school arm-in-arm with a Hank Mc-fuckin’-Coy.

His shoulders are stiff the entire time but halfway through the door he finds calm, stowing away the humiliation and rage from this whole situation for another time when someone would punch back. His fixes his eyes forward and ignores the foyer laced with straggling students, some who whisper behind their hands and others who blatantly stare at his wings in awe and pity. Hank marches him past all of this and to the grand staircase, leading them both up the left one. A girl with her hair up in a scrunchie passes them and when she glances over Warren levels his gaze at her, watching her scurry down the rest of the stairs without turning back.

Hank steers him down a long hallway when a flood of students suddenly blocks their way, boys in retainers and girl in shoulder pads streaming past them. Warren pulls his wings in against his back as tight as he can to make room. There’s an uncomfortable feeling that settles below his stomach as legs brush past the lowest feathers on his right wing but there’s no equal pressure on the left. A week was barely long enough to heal a papercut but he wished his mutation would hurry the hell up and grow back like it always did.

There’s a tap on the arm that’s not cradled in Hank’s and Warren turns to see blue skin and black hair and amber eyes that he recognizes immediately. It’s the boy from the cage, from the pyramid.

He smiles and starts with a lilt in his voice. “Hello, I just wanted to—”

“Shut up,” he snaps. Hank is pulling him forward as the crowd thins out and Warren moves with him, leaving the teleporter behind. If he wanted to fight or apologize or try to insult him later, then he could poof in and find him again. Probably thinks he’s hot shit, having bested him twice. If Blue wanted to have another go, then who was Warren to deny him the ass-kicking he so desperately wanted?

He enters Xavier’s office and spends the next hour in thought, fantasizing about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wasn't sure if I wanted to do more but I love this pairing so much and I'm having a lot of fun so let's see how far my original plan gets before I burn out. Sorry this one's not very Nightangel centered but this title is 'Go Slowly'.....so slow......a snail's pace really............
> 
> I originally congratulated myself for making this one nearly twice as long as the last until I previewed it and it's still so, achingly short. I'll try to do better.


	3. A Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's a jerk and Warren's a jerk and the lesser jerks all get wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I have done while writing this fic: Looked up the invention of Reese’s, childlocks, and the phrase “Good morning Sunshine”. Found release dates for ‘Up the Academy’ and ‘Revenge of the Sith’. Used the eyedropper function on Powerpoint to check the color of Ben Hardy’s eyes. Researched avian human anatomy. Gosh darn do I love accuracy.

Kurt wakes up to a dark house and no covers. His comforter is on the floor at 4:21 AM, according to the alarm clock Scott was more than willing to let him have, and his tail has wedged itself between the mattress and his knee. He pulls his tail free and the blanket back over himself and drifts off to sleep.

Kurt wakes up to a horrible beeping noise that grates on his ears. He buries his head under his pillow to try and block it out but only succeeds in muffling it slightly. It takes him two minutes to figure out it’s the clock, ten seconds to hit the snooze button with his tail, and what feels like a moment to fall asleep.

Kurt wakes up to scream as someone shakes him awake. It’s Peter, his grey hair a messy halo from the sunlight and pajama shirt horribly wrinkled.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he grins and pulls Kurt to his feet. “Class starts in 5. Wouldn’t want you to miss my buddy Hank’s speech on clams.” He claps him on the shoulder and runs off again.

Kurt groans and falls backward onto the bed, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. His head is stuffed full of cotton and the last thing on his mind is the morning lecture on biology. He can hear the sound of Peter speeding in and out of his room, shuffling through his closet and making remarks about how this shirt is so last season and those pants would make his butt look great but probably not with today’s weather, whatever it was.

A pile of clothing unceremoniously lands on his face, a belt buckle crashing right into his nose. “Peter!” He finally sits up of his own accord, massaging the sore spot with one hand. “It’s too early for all this noise,” he whines.

“4 minutes.” He reappears, fully dressed including his signature shades and silver jacket. “This isn’t a very healthy lifestyle, Kurt. As your teacher, I’d say you need more sleep and less whatever else it is that you do but,” he blurs again and ends up posing on Scott’s bed, taking a generous bite out of an apple he didn’t have before, “I’m not your teacher yet.”

Kurt eyes him sleepily. “Would you please leave so I may change?”

“Sure, man. Three minutes!” A flutter of papers follows him out the door.

Kurt’s tail drags on the sheets as he climbs out of bed, trying to stir some life back into his half-dead limbs. When he’s finally out in the open and the cold morning air is raising goosebumps on his skin, he shifts into panic mode. He changes in record time, not counting the wasted seconds when his foot gets caught coming out of his pajama pants. He smooths down the collar of his shirt, despite Scott’s warnings that this was ‘uncool’, grabs his notebook, and imagines the 3rd floor classroom where Hank preferred to teach. It had taken him a couple hours of practice to get it right, Ororo and Scott passing homework answers back and forth via his teleportation, but he was finally able to jump straight to his seat without any problems. Quick and easy, as you were.

As soon as he lands something is wrong. There is a yell right next to his ear and the other students have all turned to look at him. And, if he is indeed sitting in his chair, then it must have the mutant gene because the seat has grown a new pair of legs. He twists his body and finds himself staring into the most beautiful olive green eyes, both of which look very, _very_ angry.

“Kurt!” It’s Jubilee who calls his name from over by the door and he teleports next to her, grateful for somewhere to go. If she noticed him sitting in Warren’s lap, she doesn’t mention it. “You were almost late, what happened?”

“I- I overslept.” Kurt’s face feels like it’s on fire and but most of the other students have already gone back to copying the pre-class notes Hank had written on the chalkboard. “Peter came and woke me up.”

“That was so nice of him! Kind of weird, but nice.” She looks around room for a place to sit since their usual spot has been overtaken and points out two chairs near the window. “Since that boy’s in your seat why don’t we sit over there?”

Kurt quickly glances at Warren. He’s still glaring at him, his eyes wider than usual and cheeks a splotchy red color.

He swallows and looks back at Jubilee. “Yes, over there sounds very good to me.”

They make their way through the rows of chairs and sit down, Jubilee pulling a sparkly blue pen out of her hair to start scribbling down the notes. He tries to focus on the different taxonomic levels but the usual murmur of class discussion, today coupled with not-so-subtle points in his and Warren’s direction, keeps him from accomplishing too much. Trying to ignore the rising shame and paranoia, he leans towards Jubilee. “Shouldn’t I tell Warren he is in my seat?” he whispers.

Jubilee shrugs. “I think where we are is fine. Besides, Mr. McCoy should be here soon.” She looks up at the clock. “Actually, he should already…be here,” Her voice trails off and Kurt follows her gaze to the front of the classroom where Peter has one hand on Hank’s desk. He’s looped a tie around his neck and is grinning like a wonderful prank is about to come to fruition.

“Morning, glad you all could make it here.” He winks at Kurt. “Hank’s skipped town for the next 24 hours which means I’m taking over his classes for the day.” The board is erased and his name is speedily scrawled in its place. “You can address me as Sir or, if I really take a shine to you, Professor Maximoff.”

One kid in the front row raises her hand. “Uh, can we just call you ‘Peter’?”

“Hey,” he leans over the desk, “Who’s in charge here?”

“But ‘Professor’ is—”

“See? You already got it. Have a lollipop, kid.”

She opens her mouth to say something else but it’s shut again the next second, a lemon sucker between her teeth.

“Now,” Peter rubs his hands together with glee, “Who can give me the…” he glances down at a sheet of paper on Hank’s desk, “Taxonomy order? Maybe our new student?”

The tide of eyes changes flow from the front of the room to the row before last, where Kurt usually sat. Warren meets their gaze with defiance, shoulders rigid and legs spread to take up as much room as possible.

“I don’t know what that is.”

Peter shrugs and makes a face, looking entirely unsympathetic. “You could take a guess.”

“I wouldn’t know what to guess.” Warren shifts position to sit up straight in his chair. He looks bigger, more intimidating as his wings puff up behind him. Kurt can see Jubilee out of the corner of his eye as she holds her arm straight up in the air. Her stare is aimed at Peter instead of Warren unlike the rest of the class.

Peter sucks a breath of air between his teeth. “Ouch, that has _got_ to be embarrassing. Okay, how about you just tell the class your name and a fun fact and I’ll still give you participation points?”

It’s not a fun spectacle to watch on Kurt’s end, an uncomfortable block of pity sitting heavily in his chest. He and the others had visited Peter in the hospital as soon as they could, arriving ahead of Hank, Charles, and Danielle, the mutant with healing powers. When Peter had found out from Scott who his neighbor was, there hadn’t been any anger. Just an acknowledgment of fact (“ _Wow, really?”_ ), before they’d changed topic to joking about hospital food.

Now Kurt was starting to wish they’d kept him talking.

“How about you tell us about your tattoos? Gettin’ kind of an Egyptian vibe from aaaall this.” His voice had a smug quality to it that was beginning to disturb the class, soft mutters rising in volume.

The corner of Warren’s mouth twitches but he rises out of his chair calmly. Kurt watches him with wide eyes. “It’s Warren. Fun fact: I’m leaving, _scheiße-kopf_.” He strides towards the door, a rage-fueled fluidity to his motions that makes him look like an unstoppable tidal wave moving towards shore. The claws on his wings ram into the doorframe mid-step when he reaches it, but Angel keeps on moving. Kurt’s hands fly up to cover his ears as the talons gouge out long scratches on either side of the wall before he breaks through.

“Hey, you can’t leave campus!” Peter yells out the door, making no attempt to leave the classroom. “It’s the law! I mean, not that I’ve ever cared about the law, but you should!”

Both of Jubilee’s hands are in her lap when Kurt looks back at her and there’s an ache in his legs from the ready-to-stand position he’s been unwittingly holding them in.

Peter clears his throat and pushes back his bangs. “Well that happened. Probably a good time to take attendance.” He picks a different paper up from the desk and begins calling out names.

Kurt’s heart isn’t in it when he answers ‘Here!’ and his gaze inevitably drifts back to the marks in the door. Shouldn’t he go after him? Would anyone else? It wouldn’t be right to leave him by himself, especially on his first day. Especially after being disgraced.

Kurt raises his hand. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Peter waves him away and asks if Madison Jeffries is present.

He teleports to the hallway and begins his search.

 

For a guy with such a large wingspan, it was proving increasingly difficult to track Warren down. Kurt’s power was getting a workout as he teleported from room to room, only waiting long enough to do a quick visual sweep for bright feathers and angry green eyes.

Not in foyer.

Not in the kitchen.

Not in the TV room.

Not in any of the dorm hallways.

Not on the patio.

Not in his room.

Two minutes had already passed and the back of his neck starting to work up a nervous sweat. Maybe he should just go back to class. It wasn’t like Warren cared, right? He’d get in trouble on his own, whether Kurt or Xavier or anyone was there to stop him.

Not in the 3rd or 2nd floor restrooms.

Not out on the lawn, although he could see Scott and Jean sitting together under a tree. Kurt takes a step forward to say hello before he realizes what he’s looking at (Jean with both her arms around him, Scott’s shoulders shaking) and bamfs away again.

Not in the library.

Not in the chemistry lab.

Not on the—

He was on the roof.

Kurt lands near the air conditioning unit, whose humming and rattling covered up the sound of his teleportation. The creeping feeling at the back of his mind counted down the time it would stop being appropriate to go back to class with a sense of impending doom. He wasn’t sure how long it usually took to use the restroom but Scott had wasted a good seven or eight minutes in their last Ancient Civilizations class. Five minutes to check on Warren wouldn’t be the worst decision.

“Warren?”

He was standing near the edge, back to Kurt, and turns around to stare him down. “Yeah?”

“You left class very suddenly; I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

Kurt takes a step forward, looking off to the side. “You do not seem fine.”

“What is your fucking DAMAGE?!” Warren screams, his wings propelling him forward. Kurt dodges him easily, reappearing atop the air conditioner. “Why do you care? You stupid sh—!”

The teleport happens almost automatically as Kurt, by some miracle, ends up right back in class next to Jubilee. His whole body is quivering slightly, but at least not enough to draw attention from the rest of the class or from Peter, whose teaching style has mutated into a cross between an art class and The Oprah Winfrey Show. He can’t tell if it’s from frustration, embarrassment, adrenaline, or all three.

Jubilee reaches for his hand and holds it for the rest of class.

 

Kurt tries to wait for Jubilee when class ends but she’s up to the front of the class like a shot, asking Peter about this species and that bacteria. He stays for a minute or two, shifting from foot to foot and smiling somewhat awkwardly at the students who glance at him. And then he can’t take it anymore and teleports back to his room. He arranges himself on the bed, feeling jittery and upset but unable to pinpoint why. Up again, around the room as if walking back and forth from the door to the nightstand he and Scott share will help. Kneeling down. Why didn’t he think of this before?

Kurt clasps his hands together and searches for some sense of calm.

“ _Forgive me my sins, O Lord, forgive me my sins,”_

               He closes his eyes.

“ _The sins of my youth, the sins of my age, the sins of my soul, the sins of my body;_

_My idle sins, my serious voluntary sins-”_

               A noise on his right almost breaks the spell but he presses on.

“ _The sins I know, the sins I do not know-”_

Louder.

_“The sins I have concealed—”_

“Hey! Let me in!”

Kurt sighs heavily and opens his eyes to ask for peace when he sees Warren. Not in the room, but with both of his feet braced on the inches-wide window ledge, wings almost lazily rocking him forwards. His arms are flexed from the effort of keeping him steady and Kurt stares for a moment, stunned.

One of his talons taps on the glass again and Kurt comes to his senses. “ _Sekunde!_ ” He bolts to the latch and throws the window open, one hand automatically reaching for Warren’s to help him inside. Angel twists his body and wings through the narrow gap and gets both feet on the nightstand before he jumps to the floor, landing hard.

A strike of fear hits Kurt at the noise and he drops Warren’s hand. He teleports away so he’s near the door and at least 8 feet away. “What do you want?” he asks, tail swaying behind him.

Angel holds his hands out to show he’s not a threat. His face is dark, eyebrows low and braced for disappointment. “Did you tell Xavier about the attack?”

“What? No.”

“Okay.” A beat of silence. “Please don’t.”

“Oh.” Kurt blinks at him and straightens up from the slight crouch he’d settled in defensively. “I won’t. I wasn’t planning to.” Is that all he was worried about? He’d flown up nearly three stories with his burnt wing to say that? “You can come through the door next time, you know.”

“Didn’t think you would let me in.” Warren sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glances around the room, keeping his wings tucked in due to the small space. He nods towards Scott’s side of the room. “Whose bed is this?”

“Scott’s. He’s my roommate.” The emotional sinkhole left by fear was beginning to fill up with the uncomfortable notion that he’d never had guests over. Especially uninvited ones that almost fell through his window.

“Mm.” Angel didn’t make any move to leave but continued to posture. “So you—”

A quick rap at the door cuts him off as Ororo’s voice floats through. “Kurt? Are you in there?”

Kurt spins around to open the door, beckoning her inside and relieved at the intrusion. “Yes, hello, come in.”

Her face breaks into a smile when she sees Warren. “Good to see you again.” She gives him a once over and extends a hand. “I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced. I am Ororo.”

“Warren.” They shake and he lets go as soon as the gesture is done with, returning his hands to his pockets.

“Jubilee sent me to find you,” she turns back to Kurt, “It’s hot out and apparently Scott is not feeling well so she and Jean are having a water balloon fight.”

Warren snorts. “Couldn’t you just fix the hot part?”

“I offered. They say this is better. So, Kurt, are you in?”

He nods furiously. It would be just like the mall again, but more friends! More water! Less chances of freezing his brain! Warren’s face is stony again, almost a pout that looks ridiculous with his hair so short. Kurt waves him over. “Would you also like to fight?”

Ororo looks startled for a second at his proposition, but relaxes easily. “Yeah, you definitely should. Get to know everyone better and let out some of that frustration.”

Warren rolls his eyes but comes along, much to Kurt’s surprise. He reaches for their hands and gives them both a squeeze in his excitement.

Mid-teleport one of them squeezes back.

 

When Jean breaks out the towels the running total is:

96 balloons thrown

4 balloons forcefully electrocuted by Ororo mid-throw

19 balloons levitated by Jean to snipe various team members (usually Warren)

7 balloons Kurt caught with his tail and retaliated

13 balloons popped by Warren’s talons before they could splash him

1 unfortunate time Jubilee’s softball skills knocked Scott’s glasses off and

6 mutants soaked to the bone.

“Try not to make a mess, okay?” Jean chides, meeting them halfway as the group makes its way across the mansion lawn. Kurt catches her glance from him to Warren to Jubilation before she tosses Jubilee the last towel. “Sorry Kurt, there weren’t enough in the closet for everyone.”

“He can just poof back to our room and change. No sweat.” Scott digs part of the towel into his ear, fishing for water. “And then we can all grab some dinner, because I’m starving.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Warren pulls at his shirt, unsticking it from his chest. “I don’t have extra clothes.”

“Didn’t the Professor get you any before you got here?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

There’s a feeling of peace, Kurt notes as he pushes his soaked bangs out of his face. Sopping wet and tired out, no one even remembers that two of their party once tried to destroy the world. It was……nice. It was new. It made him feel light and airy and capable of teleporting all of them straight to the kitchen for something Scott and Jubilee would undoubtedly dig out of the freezer. And compared to the rising fear he’d had that they would refuse him once they’d saw he’d brought Warren along it was heaven.

“Hank’s getting them today,” Jean says. “He’s been out since this morning doing errands.”

Kurt’s about to offer his own spare clothes when Warren’s hands grasp the hem of his shirt and, almost in slow motion, drag the wet material up over his abs, his chest, his head. His eyes felt stuck in his skull, forcing him to gawk at the rigid muscles and protruding hipbones previously hidden. Warren was still moving, twisting his body to pull the shirt over his wings carefully to avoid bending any of his feathers, but the whole scene was mesmerizing.

Scott stops walking abruptly, snapping Kurt out of his trance. “Woah, what’s up with your chest?”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I mean—”

“Putting your hand on me makes this less weird, sure.”

“—you’ve got two….two……..”

“Pectorals.” Jubilee chimes in.

“Is that a bird thing?”

“It’s a wings thing.” Warren flaps experimentally, causing the lower set of muscles to flex. Kurt’s cheeks flare up at the sight but he doesn’t say anything.

Scott looks impressed and he nods. “Rad.”

A gurgle on Kurt’s left draws everyone’s attention to Jubilee, who’s clutching her stomach with a pained look. “Can we _please_ get some food? I’m bushed.”

Ororo pats her on the back and leads her to the front of their soggy procession. They all fall in behind the two, Kurt watching the sway of Warren’s wings in front of him as they climb the steps to the mansion. As he’s about to follow them through the door, Warren sticks an arm between Kurt at the entrance.

“Don’t you need to change? Not that the Drenched look doesn’t look amazing but Jean seems like a hardass.”

Kurt looks down at his clothes, the bottom of his pants still dripping water, and shakes his head. “Right, sorry. I was distracted.”

“You’re fine, but bring me some pants?” Angel holds out the shirt and Kurt absentmindedly takes it, his hand slipping into one of wing holes. “I would ask for a shirt but I don’t want to ruin any of yours.”

Kurt nods, preparing to teleport to his room. “Of course.”

“Thanks. And,” Warren runs a hand through his still re-growing hair, “I’m sorry for before. On the roof.”

Kurt can’t help the smile his face breaks into. “I forgive you.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile, before Ororo’s voice rings out behind him. “Warren, are you coming?”

Kurt teleports away with one last glance downward, an odd mixture of tangled nerves and gratitude mixing in his stomach for Warren’s lack of clothing. Now he just had to survive another few hours with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to spoonishlylording whose long, screaming tag on Tumblr finally gave me the strength to finish this chapter. Remember when I said I wanted to write longer pieces? I regret that.
> 
> Also if anyone's wondering about how I'm dealing with Warren's anatomy (the.....pectorals thing) check out this link: http://auroracarina-chan.deviantart.com/art/Thoughts-on-Wings-180464319


	4. A Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes get acquainted with the finer points of electronics and numerous beloved old school movies from the 80s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember the good ol' days where I just wanted to write MORE......those days are over and I'm dumping this absolute fiasco on you no matter how short the internet makes it look. Also this chapter might be what finally hits the 10K word mark? Dunno. Guess we'll see.

Somewhere between his final court date and borrowing Kurt’s pants, Warren has made friends. Or they made him. Or they tolerate him enough to _seem_ like friends and at 2 in the morning, with his wings acting as the group blanket and everyone smushed next to him, he doesn’t care which it is.

“Do you think we should wake Scott?” Jubilee whispers from her position at the left end of the couch. “I can hear him snoring from here.”

“Let me try something.” Jean wriggles her arm free from its position between her and Ororo and raises it over Scott, whose head is tilted back against Warren’s wing. His head rises mid-snore and jerks slightly at the motion. She settles him so he’s leaning on her shoulder and takes a moment to carefully secure his glasses, her eyes hard but mouth stretched into a soft smile. Scott’s snores stop almost immediately.

Warren grimaces. The display of affection hits him in the stomach, kicking it from underneath with a lurch. He wants something like that, he doesn’t want something like that, does he _deserve_ something like that?

Kurt bumps his shoulder by accident as he shifts in his seat, putting his legs up on the coffee table half of them were already using as a footrest. He whispers an apology and goes back to watching the final scenes of The Breakfast Club. His amber eyes are radiant in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the TV. Warren can also distinguish the lines marking his face which stand-out more in the shadows. Was it an extra mutation, like the ears and the tail and the….blue?

“I think we’re a lot like the Breakfast Club,” Jubilee pipes up again, sleep heavy in her voice.

Ororo calls back, “How so?”

“Well,” she pauses to yawn, “We’re all different like them. And the school is like detention. And we all became friends.”

“So who is who?” He can hear the smile in her voice.

“Jean’s the Princess.” Her first response is automatic and final, with assurance of someone who’s probably been waiting the entire movie to voice this comparison. The credits begin to roll in the background.

“So Scott is the Criminal?” asks Kurt.

“I’m the Basket Case.” Jean smiles when she says it, leaning forward just enough to lock eyes with Jubilee. “You’re the Princess.”

Warren slowly repositions his wings, trying not to ruffle anybody’s feathers.

“So Scott’s the Athlete!”

“What am I?” Kurt’s tail sneaks across Warren’s lap to grab the last piece of popcorn from the bowl Ororo’s holding, the spade tip brushing his wrist in passing.

“You’re the Brain,” says Jean.

“Why?”

“Because you save all their asses at the last minute for no good reason.”  The couch goes silent, everyone who’s awake turning to look at Warren. He meets their stares one by one. “It’s true.”

“I guess that makes you the Criminal then.” Jean looks ghastly, her eyes deep in shadows and hair a gleaming red. Warren can feel the uncomfortable prodding in his head that always accompanies telepathy and his scowl quickly morphs into an incensed grimace. “It matches your history.”

“Then I’m the Criminal too.” Ororo leans in between the two of them, her white mohawk blocking each other’s view. She nods at him. “Horsemen stick together.”

The VCR player clicks and they all flinch, Kurt, Jubilee, and a suddenly-awake Scott all screaming in surprise as static screeches out of the TV. Warren yanks his wings free and hurdles the coffee table, scrambling for the cassette player and hitting the eject button in record time. The tape slides out and the static settles to a quiet hum, underscoring how heavily he’s breathing from that one burst of adrenaline.

Scott takes off his shades and rubs at his eyes before replacing them. “Anyone up for Round Three?”

“You just slept through 45 minutes of classic American cinema. Do you really think you can go another two hours?”

“Jean, there is no way I’m missing Back to the Future.”

Jubilee lets out a high-pitched groan. “Scoooott, can we please go one movie night without you making us watch that?”

“How can you talk about American Classics without mentioning Marty McFly? It’s a crime against good cinema. And you know, they left the ending _perfect_ for a sequel.”

“Aaauuuuuggggh. Any other suggestions?”

“We could watch Pretty in Pink.”

“But what about Footloose? We haven’t shown Kurt and Ororo Footloose yet!”

“How are all of you not tired…?”

“If you’re not gonna let us watch Back to the Future then at least let them see Top Gun.”

“How about Trading Places?”

Jubilee starts to nod at Warren’s suggestion but then bites her lip. “I don’t know if the School has that one. I’ll check.” She stands up and stretches before picking her way over to the bookcase next to Warren.

“I’ll go make more popcorn.” Ororo’s knees crack when she gets up, which prompts her to spend a minute cracking the rest of her knuckles.

Kurt rises as well. “I’ll go too. I want to see if there’s any ice cream left in the freezer.”

“And I’ll escort you both.” The last thing Warren wants is to be stuck here by himself with the Dream Team featuring Bitch McGee. Two months of “So when do you plan on trying to commit genocide again?”, her blatant use of telekinesis to push him around, and those few awkward encounters where she asked him to stop making eyes at Scott had hardly endeared them to each other. She was rude and ungrateful and had a victim complex a mile wide that somehow reversed itself and ended up with her looking down on everyone else. _And_ she never said thank you.

“We do have it!” Jubilee triumphantly pulls a movie from the shelf and dumps the tape out of its box. “It needs to be rewound though. Some of these kids have no respect for order.”

Scott grins. “Jubes—I’ve seen your room and there’s no way you can say that with a straight face.”

Warren follows Ororo and Kurt into the kitchen as the two begin arguing, watching Kurt’s tail shift behind him. There’s no lines on it anywhere, unlike his face. Ororo sets the bowl on the counter and vanishes into the pantry, leaving the two of them in the main area. When Kurt reaches for the freezer Warren keeps watching him, scanning his arms for lines (there aren’t any) and following the ones on his face down to the curve of his neck. The rest disappear beneath his shirt.

“Are those lines an extra mutation?” he finally asks.

Kurt hauls the carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream out and runs a hand over his cheek. “You mean these? No, they are not a mutation.”

 Warren’s chest tightens and his wings jerk of their own accord, a ghost of pain sliding down his spine. “Did someone else do them?”

“No, I made them myself.”

“You- you did that.” Now that was something Warren could understand. Something he couldn’t stand. “Why the hell would you do that to yourself?”

Kurt fingers the ones on his neck and smiles sadly. “For penance. It is to apologize to God for my sins.” He sets the container on the counter and grabs a spoon out of the drawer, oblivious to Warren’s nausea.

Warren can’t look at him right now, can’t look at much of anything. Every muscle is stiff, every bone ready to snap and break from the sheer horror because fuck, _he_ _gets it_ but Kurt shouldn’t know what that feels like. Was it the same kind of pressure? To _conform_ and be _normal_ – but unlike Warren it wasn’t a few hours of crying on the bathroom floor with knives he wasn’t old enough to use yet and everything was right with the world. Kurt couldn’t carve out the blue, couldn’t chop off the tail or pull out the teeth.

The microwave door slams shut and brings Warren back to the present. Kurt taps the control pad, its cheery beeps sounding too light-hearted for what he’s just heard, and it begins to heat up.

“I actually,” Kurt shyly steps towards Warren and pulls at his t-shirt, exposing his collarbone, “Have one from Berlin. Not just for the cage fight, there were things before. They are symbols given by the archangel, Gabriel–”

Warren wrenches Kurt’s arm back—they’re face to face, inches apart. “Don’t do this. Not anymore, don’t do it anymore Kurt.”

His eyes are wide but he doesn’t teleport like Warren thought he would. “Warren,” he lisps the _W_ into a _V_ like he always does, “You don’t understand.”

“You believe in God, right? That’s your thing, your hocus pocus fake magic shit that’s gonna make everything right?”

“He is not fake and he only—”

“Just stop.” There’s a low roar in Warren’s ears but he can’t tell if it’s from grief or something in the background. “You pray, right? That’s supposed to help, that gets you out of your sins. Why the fuck would you hurt yourself if you’re just going to pray it away?”

“That’s not how it—”

“Do you think God doesn’t love you enough? He made you look like one of his demons and now you’re the one paying some fucked up price? Because I can’t believe you’d follow that load of crap if it—”

“LET ME _SPEAK_ , WARREN.” Kurt is breathing hard and his cheeks have purple splotches blooming in full. “ _I_ do this. I do it for _myself_ and because _I_ feel guilty. Prayer sometimes is not enough. Doing good is not enough.” His voice has dropped from borderline yelling to pleading. “It does not feel like enough.”

They’re still close together. He’s still holding Kurt’s arm.

The microwave explodes.

The light from the kitchen shifts to darkness, Warren’s wings snapping up to shield his face. His arm is caught in between the walls of feathers, still hanging onto Kurt. Is he burnt is he mutilated is he okay—

His wings fall away to reveal an intact Kurt and the night sky, hundreds of stars outshone by the moon. He can feel Kurt shaking even as his head turns to stare at the heavens. He looks….luminous.

“Why did it explode? Did I do something wrong?”

Warren finally lets go of his arm. “What did you put in there?”

“The ice cream is always really hard to get out so I thought heating up the spoon would help.”

“You put a—ahah—you put—holy shit, KURT!” Warren can’t help the laugh that spills out of him, loud and roaring and hard enough to double him at the waist. His gut is in the best kind of pain as he imagines Kurt putting a spoon (a fucking SPOON) in the microwave, completely oblivious.

He’s still laughing in long hiccups, trying to grab any breath he can, and Kurt’s laughing too, slower and giddier and it sounds so damn _happy_. Warren can barely open his eyes to see but Kurt’s got his head thrown back and is snickering loudly and he looks amazing and it hits him how easily he could fall for this stupid dork who doesn’t know the first thing about microwaves.

The laughter tapers off slowly because, damn him, that image of Kurt putting the spoon in would rise as soon as he got his breathing under control and it was a full blown relapse for the both of them. Warren finally stands up straight, a giggle or two still escaping as he wipes his eyes.

“Kurt, you can’t put metal in a microwave, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you’re good enough.”

Kurt smiles, the scars on his face moving in the moonlight. “Thank you, Warren.”

“You’re welcome. Now, wanna go see the damage?”

Kurt nods and reaches for his hand but stops midway to gasp, his face etched with worry. “Ororo was in the pantry!”

“Shit!” He grabs onto Kurt and what’s left of the kitchen materializes around them. Where the microwave used to be is…..still the microwave, but with more smoke damage and parts of it melted clean through. Jubilee’s stashing the fire extinguisher back next to the fridge and Ororo is perched on the counter, eating popcorn out of the bag.

“We were wondering where you went,” she says with a smirk, tossing another piece in her mouth. She jumps down and pours what’s left of the popcorn into the bowl and hands Kurt the still-out ice cream. “You’re going to need another spoon.”

“Hey are we watching another movie or not?”

“Scott, something exploded! Give us a minute!” Jubilee yells back. She turns to Warren and Kurt. “Are you two okay? Yes? Sweet! Movie time!” She hooks an arm through Ororo’s and beckons for them both to follow. “We can tell Mr. McCoy about the microwave in the morning.”

When they finally flop on the couch, with the beginning montage of Trading Places blaring out of the TV, Jubilee and Warren have swapped places from before. She’s nestled between Ororo and Kurt and he’s ended up next to the armrest, one wing over the side and touching the floor and the other draped over Jubilee, Ororo, and Kurt.

It’s the most uncomfortably comfortable he’s been in a long time. And, when he catches Kurt’s eye for a split second smile, Warren might even say he’s content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the angst with Alexandra Shipp (actress who plays Storm) on repeat-- go give her a listen! She's really good!  
> https://soundcloud.com/alexandra-shipp/surrender
> 
> As always I love love LOVE to hear everyone's comments and thoughts no matter how silly you might think they are because they drive me to keep writing. Cars have gas, I've got reviews.


	5. A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the cat's away, the mice will send other mice to rescue a much smaller mouse from slightly different cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. HI. It hasn't been a year yet, right? I'm so sorry that this quite literally took forever (even though I wrote it in a day) but school is out, someone has uploaded an HD version of X-Men: Apocalypse to the internet, and I am 100% ready to pound out the remaining chapters in the next few months for any of you still reading. Also if you are, I love you. And if you are new to reading this: Welcome! You came at a good time.

12 days ago, Warren pulled Kurt out of his last class to help him do laundry. His hand was on his upper arm all the way from the third floor down to Warren’s second floor bedroom.

7 days ago, Kurt was in the library with The Grounding of Group 6 on Jean’s insistence. Warren tossed himself into the chair opposite with Peter’s (most likely stolen) Walkman. They sat in quiet silence, meeting eyes to smile and nod every so often.

5 days ago, Kurt realized he had forgotten to do his own laundry. The laundry room was gratefully empty at 2 in the morning. He wore Warren’s shirt and chastised himself for not getting it back to him immediately after the water balloon fight. The lingering scent of alcohol and Angel was undeniable. When Ororo ran into him in the hallway at 4, she said nothing.

2 days ago, Kurt cooked and ate with Ororo and Jubilee. Warren stumbled in after a test flight with Hank and sat down next to him for the rest of the meal, their legs touching underneath the table.

Today, Magneto was escorting Kurt and his friends to Cerebro. Warren had come with him.

“So they didn’t just let you go?” Scott may have been holding Jean’s hand but all his attention was on Erik. “I thought you and Ro and Feathers back there were all cool with the government.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” He smiles wryly, “Attempting to murder the president still counts as treason, even if a decade has passed.”

“Not to mention the destruction of almost every manmade structure on every continent. That’s an issue,” Jean says.

Kurt glances down at the floor. The steps of his friends echo loudly in the otherwise empty hallway but his bare feet don’t make a sound. Ororo left a trail of dirt behind her and similar flecks fell from Jubilee’s heeled boots.

Erik gives Jean a bemused look. “That as well. The arrangements of my release are a bit stricter than your friends.” He stops in front of the X-shaped vault that houses Cerebro. “The helmet given to me by Apocalypse was handed over to the United Nations. I teach here during the week, and on the weekend, I am flown to wherever I am needed to help with the world’s rebuilding effort under heavy guard, usually Hank. Charles was also required to show that he can control me with his powers, displayed in front of the entire U.N.”

“But he didn’t.” Jean, for all her normal brash and bluster, smiled as she said this.

“No.” Erik returns the grin. “He asked me to follow along.”

A beam of light flashes Erik’s eyes and unfolds into an X across his face. A robotic voice welcomed ‘Professor Lehnsherr’, with Warren snorting at the name and Kurt grinning at his laugh, as the vault opens.

As the group files in one-by-one, Kurt takes in the secret hub of the school. The inside appeared to be little more than a sectioned dome, squares puffed up slightly like pillows and one strip of floor that led from the vault’s entrance to the center of the room. A chair, console, and helmet with wires were all that awaited them, cast in a visually uncomfortable white and blue. The only time things had looked this sterile were in the preceding corridor or in the hospital when they had visited Peter.

“This,” Erik puts his hands on the back of the chair and gestures for Jean to sit down, “Is Cerebro.”

Jean glances at Jubilee before picking up the wired helmet. A second glance, (“We’re right here, don’t worry Jean”), and she slowly puts it on. Kurt startles slightly as the dome goes dark, grabbing the sleeve of Warren’s jacket as the console lights up blue.

“With it, Charles can connect to every mind on the planet. With her powers, Jean should be able to do the same.”

Thousands of images of people appear all over the dome, floating in midair and flickering blue. Erik makes an adjustment at the console and different people, this time in red, take shape.

“These are our mutant brothers and sisters.”

Scott and Ororo are standing on either side of Jean, their mouths open in awe. Jubilee carefully reaches a hand over the catwalk edge and passes it through one of the images.  “This is incredible…” she trails off.

“This place must remain a secret from the rest of the world.” Erik’s voice takes on a graver, albeit bored tone. “There are many who would harm us, using this machine to track and destroy our kind. It was how Apocalypse—”

A mechanical whisper on Kurt’s right (“En Sabah…”) is cut off before it finishes.

“—Found the school and managed to track and kidnap Charles. In the wrong hands, it can be as bad as any nuclear weapon. Perhaps worse. And to us it remains an indispensable part of mutant protection. Jean,” Erik points to one of the red figures, “Can you tell us something about him?”

There’s a moment of silence before Scott leans down to look at Jean. “Hey, are you okay?” He turns to Erik, “Is she..?”

“I’m fine, Scott.” Her voice is shaky, a starstruck quality to it. “There’s so many…..so many voices. I can hear all of them. I can _feel_ all of them.”

Erik turns to them, concerned. “If you think this is too much, we can stop. Charles and Hank are gone for the day and I can’t help you like he can.”

Kurt jumps again as the room zooms in on the person Erik pointed to. It’s a man in his forties, wearing a hard hat and thick glasses. His mustache has flecks of lettuce in it and he rests on an iron beam, lunchbox in his lap.

“David Courderoy. He wishes he’d put mayonnaise on his sandwich.” Jean raises an eyebrow. “And he’s wondering if he should cut things off with Judy and come clean to Barbara.”

Erik’s smiles are mostly teeth, but they look so genuinely pleased Kurt isn’t the slightest bit ruffled. He still hasn’t let go of Warren’s sleeve. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“And this one?”

“They’re finishing a research paper on clownfish.”

“How about them?”

“He’s putting up decorations for a friend’s birthday party.”

“Her?”

“She’s waiting for the 4B bus; her daughter has a doctor’s appointment and then she has a court date for spitting acid on her wife’s boss.”

Ororo points before Erik can ask again. “What about her?”

“Oh she…” When the view moves again, the figure that appears is small. “She’s….afraid of something. Someone’s coming after her.” Her long hair and dress trail behind her as she runs. Kurt looks down at his feet again. She doesn’t have any shoes on. “Mira, her name’s Mira, and she’s trying to get to a river or they’ll catch her again and….” Jean flinches and grabs her neck. “Something’s hurting her.”

Scott whirls to face Erik. “Turn it off!”

“We have to get her.” Ororo’s fingers spark with electricity.

“She’s in—she’s in Kentucky. She going towards a bridge there….” Jean’s nails dig into the armrests and the catwalk begins to vibrate.

“Dude, how do we get this off?!”

“It’s a big bridge…I don’t know where……” Jean’s voice has an unmistakable edge of pain to it.

Erik pushes Scott aside and takes over the console. “Jean- helmet off.”

The image disappears and the dome lights come back on. The floor stops shaking. Erik rips off a piece of paper that the console ejects and scans it hurriedly. “We have the coordinates. Do you have a plane?”

“No, the one Professor McCoy was building got destroyed and we haven’t gotten a new one.” Jubilee gnaws on her bright pink fingernail. “If she’s in danger NOW, how do we get to her?”

When Warren steps forward, it yanks his jacket out of Kurt’s grip. It feels like rejection. “I’ll go.”

“Are you well enough? It’s only been a few months. Your wings need to be stronger.”

“Ororo, you saw me fly on Tuesday. They’re fine.”

“Kentucky’s over 700 miles from here.” Scott isn’t even looking at him, he’s still face to face with Jean waiting for her to stop hyperventilating. “Even you can’t fly that fast.”

“I’ll take Kurt.”

There’s a few different choruses of ‘What?’ but Kurt knows his comes out the loudest when Warren looks at him, determined and maybe a bit desperate.

“You can teleport as far as you can see, right? I’ll fly us both up and you take us as far as you can until we get to her.”

“That’s not going to work! And Warren isn't even supposed to lave the school!”

“The government is hardly our concern right now. Jean will track you with Cerebro and tell you when you’re close.”

“She’s not going back in that thing!”

“Scott, I’m fine!” Jean locks eyes with him and he backs off before she turns to Kurt and Warren. “Go.”

He grabs his hand and teleports them both to the top of the school. There’s barely a cloud in the sky and had he not seen the look of terror on Mira’s face it might seem like a perfect day. Warren’s breathing is heavy next to him. “Warren, how do we….how were you…..?”

Kurt yelps as Angel scoops him into his arms and takes off at a run. Kurt hooks an arm around his neck and his tail coils around Warren’s waist as he jumps off the roof and they fly, higher and higher.

“You okay?” Warren asks.

Kurt nods, the air around them getting colder as they rise and the wind whips past them. He thought flying would feel weightless but instead he feels the full force of gravity pulling him back.

“Kurt, hey,” Angel jostles him and he looks up, caught off guard at how thick his throat feels. “I’ve got you?”

The adrenaline of rescue kicks back in. He swallows. “You’ve got me.”

Angel smiles, the tension in his face fading for the one moment they look at each other. “Where to Jean?!” he calls to the air.

_Kurt, on your left._

He scans the horizon slowly [ _Yes, go there_ ] and they disappear. Warren readjusts his grip slightly and Kurt buries a hand unconsciously into his regrown blond curls. The mansion grounds below them are gone and they reappear over a river.

_You need to get higher. You’re over the Hudson; that’s only 10 miles._

“Hold on.” Angel warns. He catches an updraft and Kurt feels his stomach plummet. The harsh flapping of wings can barely be heard over the wind and the sound of Kurt’s own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

_Bamf!_

_Farther._

_Bamf!_

He can hardly feel his hands it’s so cold.

_Keep going, a little to the right._

_Bamf!_

_Keep going._

His foot goes through a cloud and comes away damp. He says a small prayer for bare feet.

_Bamf!_

_Keep going!_

_Bamf!_

_KEEP GOING!_

_Bamf!_

“Kurt!” Warren shouts as he tucks his wings in and dives. Kurt curls his body around Angel as they roll out of the way of a bridge.

_You’re there! That’s it she’s right over—_

A burst of gunfire and screams comes from the bridge in front of them instead of the one behind. There are only people on this one, not even a place for a road. The tide of people runs away from the right side where a team clad in black is running full speed after a dark-skinned girl in a nightdress.

Kurt points to her frantically. “That is her! That is Mira!”

Warren lands hard on top of the bridge, using the side to stop his momentum forward. Kurt scrambles out of his grasp and unwraps his tail.

Mira makes it onto the bridge.

Two of the soldiers stay back on land, guns trained onto the bridge and pushing people out of the way.

Kurt grabs onto the beam and climbs down as quickly as possible, sliding and curling around the beams where he can. His body seems almost fluid if not for the fear rushing through him that keeps him from all but melting. When he lands, he calls out to her. “Mira!” She looks at him, tears running down her face and teeth gritted. She swerves towards the side of the bridge and he teleports to her side. “Mira, we are here to help you- We want to save you, Mira-!” When his hand brushes her he jumps back, a shock of pain rattling up his arm.

She runs past him, still yanking at the black collar on her neck.

“Warren!” He yells. “She has a- a collar! It is electric, I cannot get her! Warren!”

He watches her climb onto the rail. The soldiers yell dimly behind him.

“Warren!”

She bends her knees. A shot flies past him.

“Warren!”

She jumps.

“ANGEL!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timing, distance, and breathability of Warren and Kurt's travel is accurate. If you would like my math notes, you can have them. And if you can guess the name of the next chapter I'll tell you Mira's mutation (inbox me?). Win-win.  
> This was inspired by both a real-life bridge in Kentucky and this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiN5eIdjkok. I recommend them together.


	6. And Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..............

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wanted to have this completed before the end of May but the last week has been nothing but problems and for that I apologize. Some of you might have gotten worried about my supposed "Revival" of this fic and I want every single one of you to know it's not a fluke. I will pull off this end of this before school starts next term unless something awful happens. You have my sincerity and the planning page that outlines the rest of the story on my phone as proof.

Warren hurls himself from his perch as a spike of water shoots out of the river and swallows Mira. He curses and flares out his wings to stop his fall. The muscles strain as he swoops back upwards but that barely registers as he looks over the stunned uniforms stuck on the bridge. He grinds his teeth and circles back around.

A small roar of honks starts up on the car bridge as large waves of water rock back and forth. Warren glances back at to Kurt to see him taking out a few of the armed humans, a small fact that brings a smile to his face. When he looks to the water again, it’s only to yell and fly up again- out of the spray from the tsunami approaching the bridge.

“Kurt! Watch—” the wave hits, “—FUCK!”

He turns to go back. The men in black aren’t there anymore, washed away.

Another spike of water shoots up, but stays in the air this time. A bubble forms at the tip and expands, forcing him to hover farther away. Mira’s form floats up into the bubble, her eyes shut tight and hands still yanking at the collar.

The sun grows warm on his shoulders as he flies up, until he’s right over the cradle of water.

He shuts his wings and screams (“Shit!”) as he falls.

Warren hits the water with a splash, dropping within a few yards of where Mira’s curled herself in the center. A small shock hits him buts disappears as the bubble swallows the very tips of his wings and continues to swell. His nostrils fill with water as he tries to swim over, dragging his colossal wings with him. His wings are drenched, Kurt’s been washed away, he doesn’t think he can fly, he can’t fly, he has his wings but he can’t—

His heart beats hard against his chest and when he reaches Mira it’s impossible to hold the air in his lungs any longer. The air bubbles float out of his mouth and Mira looks at him, startled. Warren ignores her gaze and drags his wing forward. His lungs begin to burn and tighten.

He slides his talon under the shock collar and saws at the nylon frantically. The pressure around his eyes begins to build. It’s hard to breathe. He wants to breathe.

The collar rips.

The bubble pops.

Water sprays in all directions as the world tips forward. There’s a lurch in his stomach as he grabs Mira around the waist and desperately spreads his dripping wings.

“No-no-fuck-shit, no!”

The river rushes up to meet them, falling headfirst. The air is freezing.

Something wraps around his waist and yanks, hard, on his stomach.

The water is replaced by grass.

“Catch them!” Jean screams.

Around them, the air turns thick and pudding-like. Something large crashes into his back as their fall slows and Mira almost slips from his grasp until they come to a stop. There are shouts in the distance. Warren cranes his neck towards the school to see Scott and Jubilee running towards them at full speed. On the other side of them is Jean, looking exhausted, and Ororo, who has her hands spread towards them. Her eyes glow but there’s a small smile on her face.

Mira turns her head to look at Warren. “क्या आप मुझे नीचे डाल सकते हैं?” Her voice is loud compared to her small, skinny frame.

“What’d you say?”

She squirms out of his grasp and falls to the side, avoiding his body as it collapses onto the ground. He groans as whatever is on his back lands on his wings.

“I’m sorry Warren!” Kurt scrambles off him and tries to stand up before being yanked backwards. “Ah, my tail…”

“You’re fine, Kurt.” Warren sits up so he can unwind his tail from around his waist. Kurt smiles sheepishly and offers him a hand, pulling him to his feet unsteadily.

“You won’t be needing a bath today, I suppose?”

“Yeah, you’re uh, you’re right.” Warren looks down to avoid staring at him. Kurt hasn’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t want him to. “This jacket’s screwed though,” he drops Kurt’s hand and shrugs out of the leather ensemble. “You can’t get leather wet or it’s useless.” He grimaces as the fabric catches on his still soaked wings.

“I can help—!” Kurt rushes up behind him but stops short of actually touching him, looking lost.

“Uh,” Warren clears his throat and nods. Kurt tugs the jacket the rest of the way off, smoothing his feathers out of the way as he goes. “Thanks.”

There’s a poke in his side. Mira points to the mansion. “हम कहाँ है?”

“You’re okay!” Jubilee throws her arms around Kurt as brightly colored lights explode around them. “You did amazing out there!”

“We saw the whole thing from inside Cerebro.” Ororo smiles and pats Warren on the shoulder. “You did good. For a boy.”

Another poke. “उन रोशनी क्या थीं? क्या उसने उनको बनाया था? क्या कोई भी यहां शक्तिशाली भी है?” Mira’s dark hair is still dripping water onto her dress, which on further inspection looks more like a hospital gown. “Whatever, kid.” As he turns to look back at Ororo, a jolt goes through his back. “Ah, shit!” He jerks his wing out of Mira’s reach.

“Watch your language, Warren,” Jubilee calls.

He rolls his eyes and squats down to look her in the eye. “Okay Mira…….” He sighs. “What the fuck?”

Ororo laughs and pulls him out of the way. “Uko salama?” She tries. Mira’s face doesn’t change. “من أين أتيت؟”

She looks back to Warren and points at his wings. “मुझे पता है कि वह क्या कह रहा है।” She sneezes.“Fuck.”

Warrren’s gaze snaps to Jean on instinct, waiting for the telekinesis trip or a lecture inside his own head. She shakes her head but the psychic attack never comes.

“The Professor won’t be back for another 10 minutes.” She says. He doesn’t want to feel relieved but his stomach relaxes a small bit. A trickle of water makes it’s way down his back. “And we should get you guys inside.”

Their group starts to move forward, Jubilee sticking close to Jean in case she needs a hand. Kurt hangs back, meeting Warren’s eyes every so often. They get about ten feet before Warren notices Mira hasn’t moved. He walks back, the exhaustion of the flight and carrying so much extra weight finally draining the adrenaline away and replacing it with lead. “We’re leaving, kid.” She doesn’t respond, just stares. He pushes his wet hair back and absentmindedly sways his wings. “I know how you feel right now. You’re relieved and scared and you can’t understand a thing I’m saying, which is probably the most scary to you.” He bends down. “I’ve been you. Okay? You’re small and cute and I’m buff and gorgeous but you don’t have,” he snaps his wings out and a spray of droplets fly into the yard, “These.”

She nods, slowly.

“All I’m saying is….you’re fine. And for the first time in your life,” There’s an unbidden image of Xavier leaving his hospital room, “I can promise you’ll be safe.”

Mira continues to stare.

He wipes a hand across his face and rubs at one eye. He gives her a thumbs up.

She grins and returns the gesture.

They start walking towards the Institute. Kurt’s waiting not far from them and smiles softly at Mira, offering his hand to her as they catch up. She takes it, and a second later Warren jumps as she grabs onto his as well. Kurt coughs and smiles at him over her head, all sharp teeth and genuine happiness. There’s heat in his cheeks and something sharp in his chest as Warren tightly smiles back.

He realizes it when they walk through the double doors. He’s got a crush on Kurt.

 

 

 

Was he standing too close? Did he look casual enough? Maybe he wouldn’t normally have his arms crossed. But then should they be at his sides? There wasn’t a lot of room for all of them in Hank’s study. Warren looks down and can suddenly feel every shift of his hips, which are currently angled in Kurt’s direction. He shifts them towards Xavier. And uncrosses his arms.

“Hank, Erik, and I will be taking the rest of the night to look into Mira’s case. I’ve spoken to her, with telepathy, Scott, and it appears she was part of some sort of……”

 “Mutant breeding program.” Erik finishes. He’s staring out the window but his eyes are glazed over, a small frown making him look contemplative and disgusted at the same time. “Make no mistake: it’s a good outcome but the way they seem to be doing it is despicable.” He scratches at something on his forearm.

“They were doing _what_?” Jubilee asks quietly. Her face is twisted similar to Erik’s and Ororo has her hand in a tight grip.

The urge to stare at the wall for hours gets caught with the urge to kill the bastards and Warren’s stomach is caught in the middle. He glances at Kurt, who’s baring his teeth, and feels the nausea kick up a notch.

“Well from what Charles was able to gather from her memories, it sounds more like a gene harvesting program.” Hank grabs a journal off one of the piles next to his desk and hands it to Jean. “It was something new, only done in France a few years ago. They can actually remove someone’s gametes and use them to produce viable embryos for others. These people are using it to assure customers of mutant children.”

Scott looks over her shoulder as she flips through it. “I thought everyone hated us.”

“You’re wrong, Scott,” Jean snaps. “It’s just your attitude.”

Warren glares at her. “No, he’s right. People don’t exactly invite us in. I doubt even your family would take in the Chicken/Alien combo Kurt and I have going on. At least the rest of you look normal.”

“Well then you’re underestimating my family, Horseman.”

The book flies from Jean’s hands, startling them both, and settles back onto the pile. “That is enough from you two.” Xavier says sharply. “Jean, Warren’s past is not who he is. We have nothing to gain from your constant mistrust and, after his role in your impromptu rescue mission this afternoon, I’m sure you have nothing else to fault him for. Warren, I would advise you to think before speaking.” He puts a hand on Kurt’s arm and that’s when Warren notices his downcast eyes.

“I look alien to you? Like the creatures in the movies?” Kurt shuffles his feet and Warren’s heart goes cold.

“Kurt that’s not what I meant, I was just….I mean—”

“The rest of the briefing, Hank, if you will?” Erik cuts him off.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He coughs. “So Mira is rooming with Danielle for the night; her powers will come in handy in case of any medical emergencies. As for the rest of you: you need to rest. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet and until we do you won’t be taking on another rescue mission. You can expect to leave before the end of the week most likely.” Hank looks to Xavier as he finishes.

He nods to the rest of them. “I’m very proud of you for what you did today. You worked together as a full team for the first time and you saved a young girl’s life. Sleep well. You all deserve it.”

“Goodnight Professor,” Jean hightails it outside without waiting for anyone else, her cheeks flushed. The three men look at one another but say nothing and go back to discussing the mission.

Kurt doesn’t say anything as he starts to leave with Scott. Warren reaches a hand out, opens his mouth, tries to say something. And then closes both and watches them turn the corner. He doesn’t deserve rest, or to apologize. He deserves a good getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-him.

Ororo taps him on the shoulder. “Jubilee and I are going to go get ice cream if you want to come?” Her eyes roam his face. “Warren,” he hates hearing his name, “No one thinks of us like that. We are no longer Horsemen. We are X-Men.”

Warren looks at her girlfriend, who’s gone from cracking her knuckles to angrily picking at fuzz on her hot pink sweater. He runs a hand through his hair and drags it down his face. When he shakes his head, he refuses to look Ororo in the eye. He says “I need a drink,” instead of answering her question.

And he leaves, stopping to punch the wall before raiding his mostly untouched liquor stash hidden in the rafters of his room.

He kicks on the stereo and twists open the vodka. Peter can suffer through one night of Metallica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last two chapters are ones that gave me the most trouble. It's one of the reasons I stopped writing this (other than school). I never had a real idea of where I wanted them to go or what should occur or even where everyone ends up emotionally, unlike the first chapter. These two ('A Day', 'And Evening') were also my rustiest due to the months long break. Neither of them have the obvious references to their titles in the story either (although they are there). I'm not 100% happy with my work on 'A Day' specifically and I may revisit it at some point to do Kurt's POV a little more justice.  
> As it stands though, I am very excited for the next chapter! VERY!
> 
> To mysterytour, the only person to comment on the last chapter: You are my hero. And I wholeheartedly hope your thirst has been satisfied.


	7. A Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If high schoolers can't sleep, there's always one thing they can do. (No, it's not Chutes and Ladders.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinated finishing this chapter because I was so excited to write it AND because the 16th of June is when I published the first chapter of 'Go Slowly'. This is the anniversary of my story and that's......special to me. I also wanted to finish it earlier but hey it's still June 16th in Hawaii right now so I'd say it counts.

Kurt opens his eyes as Scott screams in the bed across from him, launching himself upright and towards the window. The shutters clatter against the wall and the strains of raunchy guitar coming from the floor below them are even louder without the barrier. Kurt pulls his pillow tighter over his ears.

“TURN OFF THE GODDAMN MUSIC ALREADY!” There’s the unmistakable sound of Scott’s eyebeams mixed in with his yelling. The music continues. “WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING DAMAGE?! AAAAAAAAAGH!”

The shutters slam again and the sound deafens slightly.

Scott falls back onto his bed, glasses safely replaced. “How are we supposed to sleep? Isn’t that the point of tonight? And it’s already midnight!”

“It’s actually 11:53,” Kurt corrects him. He slinks out from underneath the covers and traces one of his scars with his nail. “Do you think Warren is okay?”

The muffled response sounds similar to “Who gives a shit”.

“I do.” There’s an involuntary clench in his throat so he backtracks. “And you should too. He’s our friend.”

Scott sits up again and swings his sock-covered feet over the side so he’s facing Kurt. “Yeah, yeah but he’s the reason Jean’s pissed at me now. I mean, if the two of them weren’t always going at it then she wouldn’t be so on edge all the time.”

“I am not so sure that is why.”

The song coming from Warren’s room changes again. Scott grabs a pillow and covers his ears with it. “When will it END?”

“Shouldn’t the Professor have done something about it by now?”

The pillow is tossed aside in exchange for hands. “They’re probably in the basement ‘researching’ or whatever.” He puts a hand over his stomach. “I don’t think I ever ate dinner.”

Kurt’s stomach echoes his observation, growling loudly. “I didn’t either.” Maybe that’s why his chest feels so empty too.

“Let’s go then. Anything’s better than laying here listening to him have a tantrum. You mind teleporting?”

Kurt shakes his head and grabs onto Scott’s proffered hand. His tail whips into view for a second and he thinks of a horror movie. They disappear, they reappear, Jubilee lets out a yelp and drops her spoon on the floor.

“Hey guys.” Ororo’s eyes glow and a small maelstrom starts up in the kitchen. Kurt shields his eyes as it levitates the spoon back up onto the table. “Nice boxers.”

“Eat my shorts, Ro.” He grins and grabs the open carton of ice cream off the counter. “What are a couple of cats like you doing up this late?”

Ororo points her spoon towards the direction of the rock music that can still be heard blasting away. “Why do you think?”

“And also we were hungry.” Jubilee steals Ororo’s bite of ice cream and laughs when she smacks her lightly. “You had a huge marshmallow! I couldn’t help myself.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

The two share a look that’s entirely lost on Kurt. “What are we going to do if we can’t sleep?” he asks. “Warren won’t keep us up all night, will he?”

“You do remember what he was like when he first got here, right?” Jubilee wipes her hand off on her penguin pajama pants. “He did this for like the whole first week.”

“While drunk.” Ororo adds.

He remembers the sleepless first week and trying desperately to both avoid and see Warren. He doesn’t remember the alcohol.

“How does he even get booze if he can’t leave the school?” Scott rummages through the fridge but comes up empty handed. “He’s not even legal.”

“You know when Mystique left? After the fight with Apocalypse? Hank took the Professor’s alcohol in case he started to drink again.” Ororo says. “And Warren told me he stole it from his lab.”

“Wasn’t Hank the one in love with her? And how are the adults here more messed up than we are?” Scott hops on the counter next to Jubilee.

“The sixties were tough.”

“The eighties are mean.”

“You know what’s worse than Warren’s thrash metal?” Jean walks in rubbing her eyes. Her pale blue nightgown is almost the same color as Kurt’s skin. “The fact that I can hear what he’s thinking while it’s playing. And it’s just the lyrics. It’s like hearing the song played over itself but half a second slower.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as Jubilee hands her a bowl of ice cream. “It’s driving me crazy.”

Jubilee pulls her hair into pigtails with two of the many scrunchies on her arm. “We just need to distract ourselves until he passes out. Then we can all sleep.”

“What are we supposed to do? Chutes and Ladders?” Scott scoffs. “There’s too many of us to play Sorry.”

“I doubt we could hear a movie since the TV room’s on the next floor.”

“What about Truth or Dare?” Jean off-handedly says.

Jubilee begins nodding frantically and jumping up and down. “I love Truth or Dare!”

Her excitement is infectious and Kurt nods with her. “That sounds like fun!”

“You’ve played before?”

“Yes, back with my family. After a good show my brother and sister would gather the rest of the kids and we would play. Mostly dares.” His grin sags a bit. “I haven’t seen them in a very long time.”

“Aww….I’m sorry Kurt.”

“Hey,” Scott hops off of the counter and slaps his hands on either side of Kurt’s face. “We’re family now. No matter what. You destroy an evil mutant god together, you die together. Okay?” He looks at the girls. “You guys too. You’re the best family I’ve got left.”

Kurt’s insides turn to mush for a second, thoughts of home replaced with the steadiness of belonging. It was…comfortable.

“Are you guys gonna play with us or makeout?”

Jean’s head snaps to glare at Jubilee for a second before returning to normal. She nods to the door. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They file out of the kitchen, following Scott. The music blares louder as the group approaches the side of the house with Warren’s room and fades again until it’s more of a dull roar coming through the walls. There’s a thrill in sneaking around with his friends, one that turns Kurt’s insides jumping. Scott cracks the door to the biology classroom and ushers them all in.

Kurt flips the light switch, blinding himself as Jean hisses his name and psychically shuts them off again.

“We’re sneaking, remember?”

“I remember. Sorry.” He sheepishly sits down next to Ororo as Scott, Jean, and Jubilee finish pushing most of the desks out of the way.

The five of them settle on the wooden floor: Jean, Scott, Jubilee, Ororo, and then Kurt. The room looks eerie with moonlight streaming in and shining off the glassware stacked underneath the windows. Kurt watches the shadow of his tail and tries to weave it through the heads of the other shadows on the floor.

“Who wants to start?” Kurt averts his eyes as Jean adjusts her dress. “No one brought a bottle or anything,” she points out.

Ororo pipes up. “We’ll just go around the circle. That person asks Truth or Dare to someone, and then the next person goes.” When no one else interrupts her, she turns to Scott. “Truth or Dare?”

His red glasses seem less harsh in the blueish darkness. “Dare.”

“I dare you to hold your glasses away from your face while still looking at the lenses.”

“Ororo!”

“What?”

“We’re playing a game, not trying to destroy the classroom!”

“Fine, then I dare you to stick your head out the window until it’s your turn again.”

Scott frowns but stands up slowly. He mutters all the way to the window before unlatching it and swinging the pane wide open. The previously muted music swells suddenly, letting in louder guitar solos than before.

“Do I have to stay out here?!”

“Close the window if you can. I don’t care much for Warren’s taste in music.”

Jean smiles and waves her hand, shutting the window on Scott’s shoulder. “Kurt, it’s your turn.”

“Oh. Right. Um…” He looks around the group. They look spookier, paler, more menacing. The music seems louder suddenly. “Jean, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Coward,” Jubilee jokes.

He thinks for a moment. “When did you get your powers?”

Her face freezes in a smile only to fall, little by little. “I saw my friend Amelia get hit by a car. When she died, I was in her head. I felt what she felt.”

He wants to take his question back.

“I was in a coma for a month or so. My parents were the ones who reached out to Xavier to see if he could somehow wake me. When he did, he told them I was a mutant. He brought me to the school, and that was that.”

Jean doesn’t stop looking at him, doesn’t even blink until Jubilee scoots into Scott’s spot to hug her shoulders. Kurt swipes at the spot of cold sweat on the back of his neck with his tail and undoes the top button of his shirt. The long sleeves and pants might not have been the best idea for tonight.

Jubilee shakes her slightly. “It’s your turn, Jeanie.”

Her gaze doesn’t shift. “Kurt, truth or dare?”

“…..Truth?”

“Why did you leave the circus?”

He leans forward, slapping his hands against the floor. How dare she! When she knows! “I did not leave! I was sold!” An itch of violence starts up in his chest and he bares his teeth. He hears Jubilee ask if it was ‘like a slave’ but he ignores it. “Someone, rich with circuses in America, bought my family’s business and said I was going to go to America. I was the best acrobat in our troupe. He said I was going to be a star, a famous mutant overseas. He drugged me, I don’t know with what.” It’s been months but he still remembers the chill of the needle in his neck. “I woke up in a box that I could not teleport out of. There was a lot of shouting and they dumped me into a fighting ring.” He points to Jean. “I told you all of this. Why would you ask me to truth it?”

He sits back. The room is almost too quiet.

“Kurt, is all that true?” Jubilee’s eyes are shinier than normal. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Scott shouts and yanks his head back inside as a body crashes into the window. He scuttles backwards as their feet slip for a moment before finally steading on the ledge. Kurt watches in horror as they drag themselves inside before shifting a massive pair of wings through the same gap.

Kurt stares in shock as Warren jumps over Scott and grabs him by the chin roughly, trying to steady himself, and then much more gently.

“I am going to murder every last one of those fucks, I fucking swear.” Angel’s voice is heavy with disdain and the scent of vodka. He takes a swig from the bottle he’s holding and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crouching down.

Kurt grabs onto him instinctively, half worried he’ll topple over. He realizes the music that they were all speaking so loudly over has stopped.

“I am so fucking sorry about that night, you gotta believe me. You’re an incredible fighter and it’s a fucking honor to watch you kick my ass. And I’m an asshole for calling you an alien, you’re fucking beautiful.” He stands back up with a loopy smile and finally seems to notice the rest of the people in the room. He waves.

Kurt’s eyes remain wide as he tries to dislodge his heart from his throat.

“Hi Warren,” Ororo waves back and stands up to help him sit. “That your second bottle?”

“Hell yeah.” Before he can drink again, the bottle floats out of his hands and clatters into the sink. “Jean you bitch!” He tries to stand again but abandons the idea halfway up. “Fuck, I haven’t drunk in awhile.”

“Does this mean we can finally sleep?” Scott takes the final empty spot between Jubilee and Warren and spreads his legs out, stretching his feet as far into the center as possible.

“I just got here, you punk.”

He stares at him for a second. “We were only in here because of your obnoxious music. Which was supposed to be across the mansion anyway.”

 “I got locked out of my room by the….Peter. Threatened to give me detention if I didn’t move as far away as possible.” Warren stretches his wings out on either side, enveloping Scott and Ororo before fanning out. “I’d say this is pretty far. Can I join in?”

Scott rubs his hands together. “Sure. It’s my turn anyway. And since we’re dropping bombs: Jean. Truth or dare?”

“You know I can tell what you’re thinking. I know what you want to ask and I pick dare.”

“I dare you to tell me why you’re been so pissed at me.”

Kurt strips his gaze from Angel’s gorgeously inebriated face to watch the implosion of Jean and Scott’s relationship.

“That doesn’t count as a dare, Scott.”

“It does because you won’t tell me otherwise.”

“Scott—”

“Come on Jean. I know you think I’m overprotective. I know that. But you levitated in the middle of a battlefield! You burned the guy even Xavier couldn’t take down out of existence!”

Jean closes her mouth.

“And then you keep doing crazy stuff like ignoring the fact that I’m worried when you were in Cerebro and I just……I just want you to tell me.” he finishes lamely.

Jean’s hair is fiery, somehow sunny in the moonlight. Kurt can feel waves of heat coming off her and promises to wear a t-shirt to sleep in from now on.

“I told you: I can feel everything. All the time. You think I don’t know that you stare at Jennifer’s chest in English? Or how you and Michelle always giggle about the “drama” your partners cause?” Jean’s eyes are glowing at this point. An orange aura envelops her as she switches from sitting to kneeling. “And god forbid I know about how often you think about Warren, when we’re on a date or doing homework or kissing, for christ’s sake!”

Warren’s face becomes a little sharper at this mention, gaping openly at Scott. “You think I’m hot?” He rubs a hand against his forehead. “I was mocking the wrong half of _that_ partnership.”

As opposed to Jean’s confrontational stance, Scott has curled up tightly. His arms are locked around his legs, acting as a barrier between him and Jean. “How- how long have you….?”

Jean sits back on her heels. The light coming off her dims. “Since he got here, Scott.” The light goes out.

The six of them sit in darkness. Kurt’s tail has long since drooped onto the floor. They were supposed to be playing a game. This was supposed to be fun. Now, his head just hurts.

Scott crawls across the floor in front of Jubilee and takes one of Jean’s hands in his own. “I’m not dating any of them though, am I? I’m dating you.”

Kurt averts his eyes again. This is even more private than Jean almost flashing him.

“You’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met, Jean. Freaky mind powers and all. And I’m sorry for the stuff you see in my head. It doesn’t exactly keep up with how my heart feels.” He smiles. “You’re my girl, Jean Grey. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Jean’s face scrunches up and a tear runs down her face. “You’re mine too, laserface.”

There’s a calm moment when they hug. It lasts a beat or two until the awkwardness grows. Kurt glances past Ororo to Warren. Ororo was probably going to hug Jubilee, so should he hug Warren? Heat creeps into his face. He wouldn’t mind hugging him.

Jubilee claps loudly once, twice after that. “Can I go? You two are hogging all the attention.”

They break apart, Scott using the sleeve of his t-shirt to awkwardly wipe away her tears. “I’m crying too but if I take off the goggles I destroy this place so you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Myyyyyy tuuuuuuuuuuuuurn.” Jubilee pouts and moves over to give Scott space on his new side of the circle. “Okay so I’ve had this in my head since we watched _The Breakfast Club_ : who’s a virgin?”

Kurt raises his hand. “I am.”

Scott looks him up and down. “No way, a ladykiller like you?” He laughs.

Jean rolls her eyes and gives his hand a squeeze. “Scott and I both are.”

Ororo shakes her head. “Pass. That’s not even a fair question.”

“Orooooooroooooooooooo.” Jubilee sighs in defeat. “You guys are no fun.”

“You’re not even supposed to ask group questions.”

“I thought it would be iconic!”

“Okay so I’m sixteen and that summer my dad hires a new assistant.” Warren starts.

Kurt whips his head back so quickly it hurts. His tail coils near his spine as he waits, rapt with attention like the rest of them.

“She’s a newly minted college graduate who’s just grateful for the salary but because Dad is who he is, I end up spending a LOT of time with her. And she’s not too highbrow to not flirt with the Boss’ Hot Mutant Son, thankfully. Anyway, Mister Worthington II walks in on us getting hot and heavy in his office a couple months in and she’s fired on the spot. I get grounded, and Dad hires a new assistant named Jason to cutoff any more trysts.” Angel pauses and grins. “Of course he bent me over a desk three weeks later but that’s nothing.”

Ororo throws her head back and roars with laughter. Kurt’s lungs suck in a breath of air and refuse to let go.

“You were sixteen?” Jean asks, shocked. “How old was this guy?”

“Only like 28 or something. He got fired like a week later for something else and it’s not like we were doing a lot of bonding.”

“Doesn’t that gross you out? He was 12 years older than you were.”

Warren waves her questions off and gestures to Jubilee. “That wasn’t the point. I was just answering her question.”

Jubilee’s head is in her hands, groaning. “I have made a mistake.”

Kurt finally exhales to the relief of his ribcage.

Ororo stands. “I pass on my turn. I’m going to bed.” She offers Jubilee a hand and pulls her to her feet. “Too much drama.”

“That was a classic retelling of the first time I got some and you’re just going to leave?”

Scott gestures to the group. “Oh come on,, at least take your turn.”

“I dare you all to go to bed. Especially you,” she points to Warren. “Sleep it off. You can complain in the morning.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Scott sighs. “What time is it even?”

Jubilee points to the clock above the door. “3 AM.”

Everyone stands, Kurt helping Warren up and barely preventing him from crushing him. He looks from the classroom door to the window Angel originally appeared from. Neither are great options for maneuvering a wasted, winged mutant through.

“Hey Jean?”

“Yeah Kurt?” She looks up from moving the desks back.

“I’m going to take Warren to his room. It is probably the easiest option at this point.” To illustrate his point, Angel throws an arm around his neck and leans hard on his shoulder.

She nods, a small smile grazing her face. “Goodnight you guys.”

“See you at the room!” Scott waves them off.

“Goodnight Ororo! Goodnight Jubilee!” Kurt waves with his tail as they exit and bamfs straight to Warren’s room.

For a guy who did laundry less than 2 weeks ago, there’s an alarming amount of clothes littered around his room. Kurt helps him to his bed, carefully stepping over all the discarded boxers and shirts and making sure Angel doesn’t slip on anything. Warren collapses on the bed face first, one of his wings sliding over Kurt’s head in a flurry.

He brushes his hair back and absentmindedly runs the other through Angel’s curls. He looks like he did during the cage fight, hair wise. But now he’s not snarling, not coaxing him to fight, not swinging those deadly talons at him.

“You always give me quite a fright, _Schatz_.” The word slips out before he can stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

Kurt snatches his hand away as Warren jerks, mumbles something before dragging the rest of his body on the bed. His hand finds its way to Kurt’s, running his thumb over each of his three fingers before falling limp again. He can hear his pulse in his ears, can feel the breathlessness in his chest. It would be so easy to just fall asleep here, to call it an accident and explain it away in the morning. To curl up in bed with this incredible man and just hold him. Just for the night.

He teleports back to his own room. He undoes the rest of the buttons on his shirt and drops it on his chair before climbing under the covers. He wonders if Warren usually sleeps in a shirt.

He lets sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SO MUCH LONGER. If it feels longer that's why. And if you can believe it, I had a lot more I wanted to add. Devastatingly, I ended up chopping any potential Ororo/Jubilee bits due to length and if there end up being any regrets about this story that will probably be it.  
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm really proud of this one.


	8. Of Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going to do WHAT at WHERE with WHO wearing WHAT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Now I could list all the excuses why this is almost two months late but I won't. I will say I rewrote this more than once and that I'm still not pleased with it but none of my other chapters are perfect and I've made all of you wait far too long.  
>  I've also never hated my own writer's voice more but hey, the perils of being an author.

The boxers dangling off the bedpost seem cheery in the morning light rather than accusatory. There’s been gaps of consciousness, waking up and remembering the night before and falling back into his dream about flying over the ocean. Water in every direction, dark against a bright sky. There had been trips to the beach when he was younger: before his mutation with his mom and nannies there were sticky popsicles and a day away from dressing up in doll-sized suits. After, with his father, it was talkative walks on a private beach below the mansion about anything EXCEPT when his next “treatment” was.

It’s so bright.

He should probably clean up in here. Warren rolls over on his side. Why did Xavier give him such a big wardrobe? Such a big room? He was the same crappy person (no, he had friends he was free, he was better) as when Apocalypse found him. A nice bedroom doesn’t change anyone for the better.

Hours after he first came to, Warren sits up. There’s no fatigue of a hangover but his mouth tastes like rotting graham crackers. He stretches as his feet hit the floor, the tips of his wings brushing against the rafters.

Why didn’t he ask Kurt to stay? He drops his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

He grabs the empty bottle of vodka and drops it in the bathroom trashcan. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He tried to grab onto Kurt before he left, not for any reason really. He wanted him there, wanted him to stay.

Warren grabs his toothbrush and slathers on the paste.

Now everyone knows he’s a slut at least. Couldn’t hide that forever. Did Kurt hate him now? He seemed pretty religious, maybe that was a piece of it too. Disgust at the disgusting.

He spits.

Or maybe Kurt’s still his same sweet self. Still smiling. God, even with all the fangs his smile looked like light made bone, still felt like a blessing.

Warren gargles and spits again.

If he’d asked, would he have stayed?

There’s a knock from outside. He takes the brush with him and opens the door, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “Whaht?”

“Hey. The Professor’s got a plan.” He nods. “You coming to the meeting?”

Warren spits onto a rogue t-shirt on the floor. “Well that was fast. In his office?”

“Yeah. Meet you there.” Scott jogs off, still in his boxers and t-shirt from last night.

Did he have to sleep in his glasses too? Warren shut the door and spit on the shirt again. He still didn’t feel clean. A few steps towards the closet and he stops and turns to look at the spit-shirt.

Whatever. It wouldn’t help.

He goes to get dressed.

 

 

“This would be a lot easier if we had Mystique here.” Jean’s speaking as Warren shuffles into Xavier’s office. “She and Eric would make this easy.”

Xavier’s face sinks slightly at her mention. “I’m afraid Raven will not be with us for this encounter.”

The corner of Warren’s mouth twitches. Raven wasn’t with them PERIOD. Four months and she still had to even show her face around the Institute. Probably back to rescuing random mutants, the way Kurt told it. His teeth clench to quell the flare of confusion. Of course she chose to take Kurt instead of him. He didn’t care if he never had to see her blue feathery nakedness ever again.

“It would be rather easy if you and I went, Charles. Don’t you think?”

Hank glances at him. “I think that his, uh, position as the most well-known mutant in the world might make that difficult, Erik.”

“Well you said you refused to send any of us,” Jean gestures to Warren, Ororo, and herself, “And the only adults here are you, the Professor, and Erik.”

“And Peter.” Erik offers. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to a little breaking and entering.”

“Erik, I’m sorry but you and Peter are not going to pretend to be a couple. Ever. It’s a matter of,” Xavier coughs uncomfortably, “Preference.”

Warren does a doubletake and raises his eyebrows. “You were planning to be a couple?”

“It’s our best plan without a straight-up military assault on the place.”

“Call the police?”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott pats him on the shoulder as he comes through the door, Kurt following behind.

Oh god no, Warren can feel his mouth tilting upwards but he physically can’t stop the smile that grows over his face when he makes eye contact with him.

Kurt’s cheeks flare darker and he grins back.

His wings shudder as the smile spreads to his guts.

“All of our options without Mystique are cautionary at best.” Hank pulls a sheet of paper from his notebook and begins rattling off: “Xavier is too recognizable, as is Erik to some extent, I should really stay behind to run the technical aspect of all of this, and Peter’s……well, he’s Peter.” He crumples the paper and tosses it onto a similar pile on the floor. “There’s no best option.”

Scott nicks the top most ball and unfolds it. “What plan is this anyway?”

“Oh, you mean Plan G?” Erik smirks. “It’s simple really, a mutant couple who can’t conceive but wants a mutant child seeks out this organization.”

“Your plan is…….being gay.”

Warren glances at Kurt out of habit and catches his stare before looking away again.

“I know that it’s my plan,” Ororo laughs as she enters, taking the last empty slot in their circle. “But this plan will not work. If we’re going to go, we need to go. Now.”

Hank’s eyes seem to sink into his head even as his face twists with exasperation. "This is a delicate operation that will take time.”

“You certainly didn’t waste time taking down Apocalypse,” she fires back.

“That’s a completely different situation.”

“No, it’s not.” Warren crosses his arms and opens his wings wider. “These kids have probably been going through hell since Mira escaped. Things will only get worse the longer we wait.”

Erik casts an eye on Hank. “My thoughts exactly.”

Hank stutters and looks to Xavier.

The Professor steeples his hands and runs a hand over his, still conspicuously bald, head. “From Mira’s memories, I have to concur. I was hoping we could think of an alternative but it seems we might not have a choice. Besides,” he locks eyes with Jean, “I believe yesterday’s antics have proven that we may not have as much sway as we think we have.”

“I’ll go ready the jet.” Hank stands and breaks the calm in the room, jumpstarting Warren’s heart. “The rest of you should suit up.”

“I’ll stay here and communicate with you through Cerebro,” Xavier promises. “A sort of organic Communicator.”

Scott jostles Jean and laughs. “Yes sir, Commander Kirk.”

“This is no laughing matter, Scott.”

His face sobers quickly into its usual pout.

“You may be X-Men, but you’re still children. That is not,” Xavier holds up a hand to stop his protests, “A slight against your prowess. It is an acknowledgment of your youth. These heroisms are great acts but there is so much more life out there for you. I would never wish to see that opportunity wasted. Especially,” he lifts a hand to his temple, “For you.”

Scott’s hands are curled into fists but there’s a shudder to his lip. He sniffs and nods, turning to head out. “I’ll see you guys in the hangar.”

Kurt follows him out, waving to Warren as they leave. He’s not even sure Kurt spoke the entire time. Maybe during the ride he could talk to him. Say something. Insist he’s not some dumb, desperate 16-year-old anymore. That he’s not just down to fuck. He’s down to….hold hands and shit.

Jean opens the door for Ororo. “Where do we even keep the flight suits? Are they in our rooms?”

“I keep mine there.” She shrugs. “Try checking your closet.”

Jean shakes her head. “This school is a disaster.”

 

 

Warren remembers months ago on the battlefield, how a bunch of random kids showed up in matching black bodysuits and somehow got stronger after originally getting their asses kicked. Putting on a similar outfit now was…..strange.

Not as strange as whoever designed this fucking piece of hellcloth though. Where did his head go? If this side was the front then his whole chest was exposed. Did it have a zipper? Was it held together by science magic?

He pulls on one part. On another. Stretches out the legs because maybe the opening is in his crotch for some dumbass reason. Throws the outfit at the wall because HE IS A MURDERING MACHINE AND THIS IS WHY CLOTHES ARE FUCKING AWFUL.

Warren rests his head against the bedpost and picks up the suit again. It’s heavier than it looks, a large white stripe down the middle of one side and black everywhere else. The circle where he had assumed an arm went unlatches as he fiddles with it. It felt like his brain had been pounding on a particularly tough watermelon and was finally pulling the two halves apart.

He strips down and steps into the garment, sliding the equivalent of scaly leather over his legs and up to his waist. This was the tricky part. And the part that made it look like a stripper outfit. He passes one arm and then the other thought the REAL arm holes (they’re way too small to be considered sleeves) and pulls the side with the white stripe all the way up.

Does he look like an idiot? A miasma of fear and rage takes shape in his stomach and he rushes to the bathroom, hurtling the bed and doing a quick 360 in front of the mirror.

It still looks like a stripper outfit, with the ‘neckpiece’ still dangling in front and another piece of cloth falling past his butt but on the whole he doesn’t look…………like a Horseman.

Warren leans in, running a hand through his hair and tracing where his tattoos used to be. He had barely noticed all the little things happening in the last six months, too busy learning calculus and going through flying rehab and trying to figure out what to do. It’s a silly thought, that his body had never given up on him even as he gave up on himself. Growing his wings no matter how many times he removed them, keeping him free of hangovers despite the drinking, slowly but surely breaking down the apocalyptic scars on his face. A spike of water rushes to his eyes, spilling out onto the sink. Powering through the hiccups does nothing and he finally half-collapses, crying over the drain. He had something, there was something for him here, he wasn’t going to die, he was so _happy._

It feels like forever, shaking and sobbing to his reflection. He cried leaving home, he cried after the first few fights, he hasn’t since. His arms ache. His wings shake.

Crying fucking sucks.

Eventually, Warren’s feathers lift from the floor. He finds the final dry spot on his sleeve and ruins it. Two kids giggle at his exposed back as he leaves the confines of his room but he can’t help smiling.

 

 

Hank’s new toy is a gigantic jet. It looks pretty similar to the one commandeered from some underwater military base, so say Scott and Jean, but to Warren it’s brand new. And awful.

“You know I can fly myself there, right? My wingspan’s probably bigger than this thing.”

“The only reason you reached the bridge so quickly was because of Kurt.” Hank flips a few more switches up front and glances back. “Don’t get cocky.”

The soft murmur on his left continues as Kurt prays, his head bowed and hands clasped together. A spike of heat hits Warren in the face as he remembers those hands recently crawling up his back, helping him finish getting into the ‘flight suit’ and clasping the back portion that had been hanging off him to the neckpiece. The good news was he could get in and out of it without having to maneuver his wings around it. The bad part was Ororo smirking the entire time and asking if he wanted help putting _all_ his shirts on at this point.

“… _lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._ ” Kurt stops for a moment, takes a breath, and starts again.

Hank calls out, “Three minutes and we’re there! Get ready.”

There’s a flicker of tension in his stomach as Warren stares at Kurt. How could he not realize how stupid they all were? They’d almost died getting Mira to safety. They were mutants— they weren’t invincible.

 

The first time he’d stepped into the fighting ring it had been easy to beat the mutant he was against. Didn’t know who they were, didn’t care. When they were on the ground and bloody, it was harder. The crowd was chanting his name and to kill her. He can’t remember asking if he didn’t have to.

He took a step forward and drove a talon into her chest. It wasn’t a decision; it was an action. There were lots of things that were actions, things to _do_ not to _decide_ to do.

Like chopping off a wing.

Like abandoning home.

 

Like reaching over to take Kurt’s hand.

He stops his repetition to widen his eyes at Warren, his hand not going limp but not grasping back either.

Warren keeps his eyes focused on their hands. “ _Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come_ ….” He trails off and his cheeks warm. What came—

“ _Thy kingdom come_ ,” Kurt closes his eyes, the tips of his fangs poking out of his smile. “ _Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven._ ”

It comes back to him as Kurt goes on.

“ _Give us this day our daily bread,_

_And forgive us our trespasses._

_As we forgive those_

_Who trespass against us,_

_And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._ ”

His stomach has never been so upset and looking at Kurt only makes it better and worse. He needs to say something, he needs to tell him….

“One minute!” Hank shouts.

The view outside is mostly trees that are whipping back and forth as the plane comes down. It lands softly, rocking slightly as the wheels adjust.

Warren looks back to Kurt, afraid of something. He squeezes his hand and lets go, undoing his seatbelt like the rest of them. Warren follows suit and they exit the jet out the back, Hank bringing up the rear. Jean’s got one hand to her temple as she scans the horizon.

“The Professor says their base is in this direction.” She points and begins marching. “There are two guards at the main entrance and the rest is underground. It’s….it’s like it’s half of a house and half a lab. It’s….gross.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?” Ororo’s eyes are focused dead ahead, glowing.

“Scott, go with Kurt to the labs. You’re playing bodyguard. There shouldn’t be too many kids on that side so teleport them out. Ororo and I will take on the dorms and get the rest out.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Wait outside?”

“Your wings aren’t going to be much use in a hallway underground.” Jean comes to a halt and holds out a hand for them to do the same. She goes forward slowly, keeping the same hand to her temple. There’s a shout through the trees and rapid gunfire before it’s quiet again. “Stay here and escort whoever comes out back to the jet. Your job is keeping them safe, Warren.”

She’s right. He still clearly sidelined, but she’s right.

The building they come upon is little more than a dark steel trapezoid with a door with two of the soldiers from before lying facedown on the ground. Kurt stops next to their bodies and frowns, corssing himself.

“They’re not dead, I promise. Just unconscious.”

“Then the bullets…?”

“Probably just a misfire when they fell.” Jean kicks the rifles away from their bodies. “I just threw rocks at their heads.”

Warren scoffs. “It sucks to be the good guys.”

Hank bends down, now blue and furry, and grabs a key off one of the bodies. “Everyone ready?”

Warren shakes his head and looks to Kurt to find him staring back.

“Let’s go.”

The door opens. Warren’s surprised that a siren doesn’t go off immediately but they break off into a sprint, bolting into the darkness.

“Stay the fuck safe!” he yells at their backs. Kurt flashes a thumbs up behind him. He’s so goddamn cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will mostly likely come back to this in the next week for a revamp/rewrite so check back and see if anything changes. (I'll put 'changes' in all caps at the beginning if I do.) I'm sorry if this disappoints you.


	9. Foolish Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not LASERS, Scott, they're CONCUSSIVE BLASTS CAPABLE OF at the very least BLASTING A DOOR OFF ITS HINGES.

“Scott you fucking idiot—KURT!”

Kurt flounders in the water, trying to figure out where the source of the voice is coming from. “Warren!” He gulps for air, “Where are you? I can’t see you!”

He can see desks and paper floating around him as water continues to gush from the wall pipes. His tail swipes past something, a tube or a wire, beneath the surface and he tries to swim towards the door he and Scott had come through. “I—! I’m over here!” It’s hard to keep his head above water, and nearly impossible to tread.

There’s a splash down the hall.  “Jesus SHIT it’s cold!”

The first thing to catch Kurt’s eye is soggy white feathers. There’s a swell in his chest as the rest of Warren comes into view, swimming towards him with difficulty.

“This is not what these wings were meant for,” he groans. “And you’re a moron if you think otherwise.”

Kurt’s cheeks hurt from smiling; he can’t seem to stop. “You came to get me?” He stretches his hand towards him.

Warren grabs his hand and drags him closer. “Of coursed I did!”

The last time Kurt had been this close to Warren was accidentally landing on him during biology. He’s got flecks of water in his eyelashes and curls plastered to his forehead. Kurt’s heart jumps into his throat and tries to escape his body, dragging him forward—

Warren’s lips are horribly chapped and the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He leans away and Warren’s hand rushes to the back of his head, pulling him back in. Kissing him. They were small, punctuated with quick breaths smelling like toothpaste, but mostly just pressing their lips together over and over again and staying longer each time as if he was reluctant to leave. Kurt’s tail winds around his waist to keep them together as he’s flooded with feeling. Warren, somehow, tastes like peanut butter.

Warren stops all of a sudden, kisses him hard one more time before retreating. He’s breathing hard, for swimming? From kissing him? Kurt wants it to be from kissing him.

His shoulders are stiff and his eyes stare at the space between his chin and the water. “Are you okay with this?”

Kurt checks the ceiling height. They should go. “I could have teleported out sooner.” He does one last sweep of the room. “But I didn’t want to leave anyone behind.”

He blushes, hard, and snatches his hands off of Kurt, splashing them both. “GodDAMMIT!”

Kurt laughs and brings him back with this tail.

“I KNEW THAT!”

“It’s okay, do not worry.”

“FUCK!”

“Warren—”

“I was just being nice!”

“War—”

“You’re just my friend and I—”

“I am just a friend?”

“No, I forgot about the teleporting because I, I kind of, I’m sorry I like you.”

“You forgot I teleport?”

“Yes! It happens!”

“You like me?”

Kurt laughs at how red his face is, laughs at how cute he looks.

Kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read the Maximum Ride series when I was younger and I will never forgive the whole "We can swim better because wings!" debacle. Is it too obvious? Also, in a sudden turn of events, I put a word LIMIT on this chapter instead of trying to max it out. I'm 3 words under. If you can think of anything to add with three words please let me know.


	10. And Our Future Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than a year later, an unexpected invitation.

Warren grinds his teeth and loops the tie around his neck. “Okay how about this then?” It’s a struggle to remember the loops Jubilee had walked him through only a minute ago. “Hi dad. This is my boyfriend, Kurt. He’s blue and I stuck my tongue in his mouth when I thought he was drowning in an illegal underground mutant child producing laboratory.”

“That was over a _year_ ago—”

“Don’t worry, we were just there to rescue 20 other mutant test-tube babies.”

“He might—”

“He was only drowning because this other idiot we know broke the water main with his eye lasers.”

“Warren—”

“And I’ve only touched his dick a handful of times since then so it’s no big deal.”

Two blue hands snatch the woefully knotted tie off his head. Warren spins to see Kurt, face almost completely purple. “I do not think your father would like to hear about such things,” he looks past him in the mirror and begins tying the tie around his own neck. “I do not WANT him to hear such things.”

“Babe.” Warren raises his wings to block Kurt’s view and puts his hands on his shoulders. “I’m just kidding.”

Kurt disappears with a bang and reappears behind him, checking the mirror again. “You sound very serious for kidding.”

“Because I’m mad.” There’s the edge of a laugh in his voice but it doesn’t make him feel any less frustrated. His bones are trying to jump out of his skin.

“I look okay, right?”

Taking a break from self-absorption, Warren takes in the view. When the girls had returned from the mall with their respective ensembles, he had been less than enthusiastic. ‘We’re not going to a funeral,’ he’d said. ‘Shut up,” Jubilee said. But now that the all-black suit was done being tailored so Kurt could have room for his tail he looked…….

“Beatific.”

Kurt’s tail swats at the air as his eyebrows draw together. “What? Is that good?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes,” His jaw clenches as he tries to explain, hands and wings waving. “It’s all Jean and her stupid ‘Word of The Day’ thing like she, like yesterday it was ‘Credulous’ which is when you think somebody’s fucking lying and ‘Beatific’ was like beautiful or like some angel thing—”

He kisses him on the nose, lips a bit wet. “I will take it as a good thing.”

It’s not every time, not by a lot, but with Kurt so close and his pupils so wide there was only a thin band of yellow he just wants to wrap his arms, his wings around them both in a cocoon and never have to deal with any of this other bullshit, other people, other anything.

Kurt’s hands flip the collar of his shirt up and drops the completed tie over his head, settling it in place. His “ _I love you_ ” is more murmured than anything else, hard to hear through fangs and lisping German but Warren’s heard it so many times by now that it’s unmistakable.

He whispers it back, one kiss per word and an extra “ _too_ ”.

 

 

Worthington Estates wasn’t as far from the Institute as he’d thought. Certainly closer than Warren would like, but a couple hours car ride was closer than expected.

The gate was imposing, iron bars over ten feet and a guard station in the middle of the road leading in. It was almost comical how it wouldn’t have stopped either of them. Humans were funny like that. They all had the same limitations.

“Name?” The guard has one hand on the gun at her side as she leans down to be face-to-face with Hank.

Neither he nor Kurt had licenses. Why would they? His wings barley fit in the backseat of a vehicle and Kurt could teleport as far as he could see. With that kind of travel, what was the point of cramming uncomfortably in a car?

“Oh I’m just dropping off.” Hank cranes his neck around to look at Warren. “This is…um…..”

He kicks the door open and slides out, tucking and turning to fit both of his wings through the opening. His hands were slick and the tie was starting to seem like a horrible idea. “Warren Worthington III.” He loosened the knot. “I’m here for dinner.”

The guard nods and backpedals to the station. She hits a button on the console and a mechanical drone starts up and the gate begins to pull open.

“Are you planning on getting back in?” Hank sticks his head out of the window. “I mean, it’s not very far but I wouldn’t want you to walk all that way.”

“Who said anything about walking?” He can’t feel any of his limbs, evaporated as they are. Did he even have arms? Was there ever a time his chest didn’t feel this tight? He tugs off the tie, catching Kurt’s eye and trying to look apologetic. “You coming?”

The passenger door opens and Kurt steps out. There’s a spot of time where everything moves slowly and Warren desperately tries to burn the image of him- hair slicked back with the blue streak, black jacket over black shirt under black tie, the way his fingers curl around the edge of the car’s roof and alight with a soft glow from the sun setting behind him -into his brain.

His eyes shut slowly as he stretches and he can feel the very end feathers of his left wing brush the station. Then one—two—three beats of his wings and he’s already over the gate. The guard’s sunglasses cover her eyes but Warren is still close enough to see how her mouth has fallen open. Her head snaps to Kurt as his signature _bamf_ goes off and he teleports next to Warren, reaching a hand out to bursh by his before retracting it.

“You know, the gate’s already halfway open,” Hank yells out the window.

Warren flips him off with one hand and undoes the top two button of his shirt to help breathe. And to look cooler. Mostly to look cooler. He swears.

“See you at 9, Hank!”

Kurt waves behind them as they begin walking in the direction of the mansion. Another grating buzz starts up behind them as the gate switches directions to close. “Do you want me to get us to the front door? I can see it from here.”

“And why would I want that?” The taut feeling in his shoulders only increases as they walk, searing the word ‘ _Run!_ ’ into his muscles. He’s grown since he last saw his father, in height and hair and wingspan. Four years isn’t the longest time but it felt like decades. He jerks slightly, phantom scissors cutting through bone. When had been the last time Warren had let him take them?

Kurt’s suit looks sillier in the outdoors, posh against the sprawling lawn on either side of the driveway but still barefoot. He looked dangerous. He looked gorgeous.

Kurt looks up at the sky, the scars on his face fading in the shadows. “I miss my family. Back at the Munich Circus.”

“Yeah?” The front of the house is a line of pillars and steps cascading to double doors. It looks similar to the institute, although without the plethora of children. The new school year had just begun and with it a whole new class of 3rd graders who had finally gotten birth certificates. Not that any of the current teachers were equipped to handle that many that young, but hopefully Xavier would hire a babysitter eventually.

“I was happy with them. Even if I frightened others, they would point and laugh at the bullies with me. They were my home if not by blood. I might have never wanted to leave.”

The doors are simple, carved with twisting vines and a gold knocker at the center of each. He keeps his eyes on that to stop from scanning the windows for any sign of movement. “Mhmm.”

“But.” Kurt grabs his arm to stop and steps between him and the house. The sunlight casts a fire in his eyes and it draws Warren’s gaze away from the door. “This is not my family. This is your father, who you have said has never had your interests at heart. Who has not loved you as mine has.”

A breeze passes them. The chill on his skin forces Warren to realize how much he’s sweating.

“I….” Kurt’s hand reaches out to cradle his face. He looks is demonic in all but expression. “I trust you. So when you say go, I will take us back. No matter what. Hank can figure it out.”

Warren doesn’t expect the laugh that peals out of him. “Fuck Hank.”

His eyes are soft. “Fuck Hank.”

There’s been a thousand moments when they’ve put their heads together like this to laugh, at Scott screaming bloody murder, at Jubilee setting off fireworks in class, at a microwave blowing up. And there’s not really a reason for why he always feels so warm, so safe. Why pressing their foreheads together can feel better than their pressing lips.

The laughter stops and their breathing matches, in and out, for a few seconds.

“I’ll let you know.” Warren takes his hand and leads Kurt up the steps two at a time. He takes a deep breath before swinging the knocker. It tastes like fresh cut grass.

Kurt squeezes his hand as the door opens.

A balding man in uniform steps back and gestures them inside. “Mister Worthington, I presume. Come. Dinner is ready.”

 

 

The man at the dinner table is horrifying. Shrunken, hairless, wearing clothes that fit his thin body but were clearly new.

They say hello, they sit down, they eat. He asks about school (“Are you getting your GED? No? An actual diploma? Good! Waste of your potential otherwise.”) and about Xavier (“You were listed as a student in the records so I had to call you understand.). He doesn’t ask about Kurt, doesn’t look at him or acknowledge him besides a double-take when he first came in. Doesn’t mention the night he left or his X-Men activities or the years he’s been gone.

Warren lets himself relax. The nice clothes no longer feel like a costume but like a disguise, to bring back Warren Worthington III instead of Warren from the Institute or even Archangel. A button-up instead of leather. Sparkling cider instead of vodka. Chopin for Metallica.

When the bald man from the door brings out dessert, he might almost have said it was pleasant.

“Your mother’s favorite was crème brûlée.”

The pleasantness dies. Kurt casts him a cautionary look as Warren realizes exactly how much room his spoon takes up in his mouth.

“Would order it whenever she had the chance. Always said life was too short not to eat dessert.”

Warren fights the urge to curse and keeps eating, stabbing a bit harder at the custard’s crust.

“I’m beginning to realize how short life is myself.”

“Is that why you contacted me?” He spits it out before another mouthful of cream. The bitterness of the years, some forgotten some not, brings up acid in his chest.

“Well, yes. You’re my son.”

A second of silence.

“And I heard stories of your….accident.”

It’s not anger, not fire. Something, Kurt’s tail, wraps around his ankle and squeezes lightly. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me.” He doesn’t mean it as a question.

“More recently. I thought it best to let you cool off and have some time to yourself after you left.”

The sugar doesn’t taste like anything anymore, feels like sand in his mouth. “That’s what I would do with a teenager in a foreign country. Just let them go.”

His father has the decency to not look taken aback. “That’s the difference between being a parent and being a child, you know. And look what you’ve begun to accomplish! If you weren’t sucked into the whole ‘Alternative’ movement you might actually be doing something with your life.”

Warren’s gaze flickers to Kurt and his wings shuffle slightly, spread out a little more. “Alternative, huh?”

“Absolutely! Come now, do you really think people will take you seriously with your _condition_? That anyone wants to see that—” he points to Kurt “—at an office Christmas party? You have so much more to offer than flying around playing errand boy to some lunatic pedophile.”

Even Kurt bares his teeth at the knock to Xavier, his hands still politely folded on the table. “You should not say such things about the Professor if you do not know him.”

There’s a river inside him and Warren is drowning in it.

Warren II sets his spoon down and dabs at his mouth, his face puckered. “I have my opinions and in this house those are THE opinions.” He turns his chair to face Warren head-on. “But I did not invite you here to discuss your life choices. There will be plenty of time for that. I brought you here for something else.”

He doesn’t care what it is, he’s done, the water is over his ears and he doesn’t care to listen anymore. Nothing changes. “What?” He’s grateful, again, for the clothes. Another thing to make him feel less foolish for existing.

“Your extensive injuries from the plane crash healed rather quickly I’m told. Far faster than any ordinary medicine. Your doctors say it is likely due to another….condition. In your blood.” He pauses, looks for any sign of recognition. “I’m sick, Warren.”

He’s heard his name a total of three times tonight: when they said hello, when Kurt asked if he wanted his leftover potatoes, and now. This time feels like pressure.

“I’ve been doing chemo, European doctors, vitamin regimens, I’ve been doing everything right. But nothing’s working. Do you know your bloodtype? O negative, universal donor. Could be to anyone, for anything.” He puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m asking that it be to me.”

It’s not a river, it’s tears and he can feel them right behind his eyes. He stands up, shrugging off the hand and pulling his leg from Kurt’s grasp. Warren II struggles to his feet, still proud and pitiful to behold, but smaller than Warren remembers. Still scary when he puts his hand on his arm like he _owns_ him, like he _owns_ his wings. Like he was never his son when he was born.

“Fuck. You.”

Like his parts were for the taking all over again.

“You _WILL NOT_ talk to me like that in my own house, you ungrateful _shit_.” He grabs a fistful of feathers and yanks Warren backwards, nearly stripping them from his wing. “You are still my child. I should have left you in the _streets_ when you started growing these _things_.” Another yank.

“Get off of me.” It comes out quieter than he would like. Lighter, as if he’s twelve again and asking for the first time if he can keep his wings.

“You will get your hands off of him!” Kurt’s half on the table, one leg up on his chair and tail moving back and forth behind him. Small tendrils of smoke waft rise from his skin and his fangs are on open display.

Warren’s father takes one look and guffaws, letting go of Warren to point at Kurt. “So this is what passes for a human these days? This country really has gone to shit. Does it count as bestiality when the two of you fuc—”

Warren’s fist passes through air as he falls, sprawling onto the driveway. Kurt’s breathing heavily next to him, eyes glowing. It’s hard to see him in the near darkness, his suit and skin blending easily with the night.

He gets to his knees before he can’t hold back any more.

It’s not nice, easy crying like Scott during _One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest_ or even or the silent tears Jean shed when her experimental goldfish died after three months. It was gushing, a stream of nonstop sobs and snot and spit pouring out and onto the gravel and it was disgusting and it was everything. A technicolor replay of four years ago of him, jumping out a window and not being able to fall, of running off hoping dad would come looking, of weeks of wondering why he’d been abandoned when he hadn’t done anything wrong he hadn’t really been bad he was just _there_ and how he was there had just never been _right_. There’s hands on his back as Kurt tries to ease him upright but he shakes him off, he can’t do anything right now except be HERE, bent over the dirt and grieving something he had forgotten he wanted.

He can’t breathe through his nose and each breathe is actually a shudder than shakes the whole of him from talons to knees. There comes a point when it’s a losing battle to wipe off his face, like scratching at an open sore. His back is warm, Kurt with his arms wrapped around him and probably freaked out beyond belief because this wasn’t him, this drippy blubbering catastrophe wasn’t him the same as Archangel wasn’t him the same as Warren Worthington III wasn’t him.

 

It eventually stops. He’s more exhausted than an hour-long flight but he waits for the ache and the cold to set in before crawling, agonizingly slowly as if too fast will set off the waterworks again, to his feet. Kurt takes him under his arm and teleports them to his room without a word.

He should be drinking or fighting or yelling or blasting music so he doesn’t have to think about anything but not this time. It’s full frontal, in-his-face memories that don’t stop draining him as Kurt delicately slips his arms one by one out of his jacket, his feet out of his shoes.

When they lay down on the bed Kurt rolls him so they’re face to face, arms and legs overlapping and his wings arranged over the side of the bed just so.

And it’s quiet.

For a while.

There’s still something stuck inside him that makes Warren whisper, “You think I should do it?”. He stops breathing, waits for the talk on being a good person and why he should “love thine enemy”.

Kurt brushes a hand through his hair, still in his dinner clothes. “ _Mein engel…._ ”

Warren shuts his eyes and lets the tiredness push him over the edge, to sleep.

Maybe Kurt’s angel could be him.

 

 

“Marry me someday.”

Kurt stops his game of catch with Mira and her friends to look at Warren. “What?”

Warren takes the ball from him and tosses back to the 3rd graders. “I want you to marry me one day.”

“One day?”

“Well not right now of course.” Catch, toss. Catch, and toss. “We’re both still kids. I haven’t even graduated high school yet, really.” Catch, toss. “But eventually.” He shakes his head when Mira mimes throwing it back. “Sound okay to you?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps him in a hug. “I still think it’s very soon to talk like that,” he says finally. “Much too soon.”

Warren grins, bumping their noses together. “Don’t worry, _liebling_.

“We can go slowly.”


End file.
